


Ohana

by Jen27ny



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, BAMF Peter Parker, Brainwashing, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra Peter Parker, Mind Games, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 113,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jen27ny/pseuds/Jen27ny
Summary: “HYDRA?”(The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and a chill runs down his back. He dismisses it, thinking it’s because of the cold metal bedframe.)“Yes, HYDRA. Our home.”~~~~~~~~~~When Tony recruited Spider-Man during the debacle of the Sokovia Accords, he never thought it would lead to anything else but a mentorship; giving the boy a suit and a few pointers here and there. He never dreamt that Peter would charm his way into Tony’s life, claiming a spot right next to Morgan. For a while, it looked like the universe finally gave Tony a break.Until Spider-Man suddenly disappears.For two years, Tony doesn’t stop looking for him, doing everything in his power to bring the boy back. But to no avail. It’s like the earth opened up and swallowed him, leaving behind nothing but a Peter-shaped hole in Tony’s heart.Then, during one mission, they meet a HYDRA agent who can stick to walls and has a very familiar face.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers (mentioned), May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 555
Kudos: 899
Collections: Irondad Big Bang 2020, god tier spider-man fics





	1. Siegfried

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> This is my entry for the [Irondad Big Bang 2020](https://irondadbigbang.tumblr.com/) and I'm so incredibly excited for this! I was paired with the lovely [lunannex](https://lunannex.tumblr.com/) who made the absolutely art for this story, and you should definitely check out all her other art. 
> 
> I've been working on this story for months, and I put more time, effort, and creativity in this story than in any other story I've written so far. I really, really hope y'all enjoy it and let me know what you think. It would mean the world to me! 
> 
> [ghostly-blues](https://ghostly-blues.tumblr.com/) was kind enough to beta-read this entire fic for me, so thank you so much!!
> 
> Enjoy! :)

When he opens his eyes, he can’t remember anything. He doesn’t even know what to do besides lying there and staring right into the bright, artificial lights. They hurt his eyes, so he blinks a couple of times, hoping they’ll adjust to the light – they don’t – and then looks around the room. There’s not a lot in here. The bed he’s lying in, a chair, a side table, and a window that covers one entire wall and is pitch black. He thinks he sees faint shadows moving, but he’s not too sure, still distracted by the bright light. Shouldn’t you see the outside through a window? He stares at it, seeing a vague reflection of himself. Brown curls, dark eyes, and he looks like he’s on the younger side. For a second, he tries to think of his age but no number pops up. The walls and the floor are stark white, reflecting the harsh light, and it’s eerily silent.

A feeling of numbness flows through his veins. He wants to remember if this is normal, if this is what every room looks like – hell, he wants to remember who _he_ is. But his brain provides nothing. Hesitantly, he sits up, eyeing the white gown he’s wearing. He tries to remember if this is what he always wears or not, but he comes up empty handed. Not even awake for a minute and he’s already frustrated.

The door opens, and a man steps inside. For a second, a wave of different noises crashes over him, being unusual loud and distracting, but then the door closes again and silence stretches between them. Well, silence, except for the constant buzzing of the lights and a steady, strong heartbeat that isn’t coming from him. He thinks he should be freaked out by it, but he isn’t. No, hearing someone else’s heartbeat feels almost natural for him.

The man has brown hair that stands up in every direction, brown eyes with soft wrinkles around them, and a neatly trimmed beard. There’s something oddly familiar about the man that makes his heart ache and his tense muscles relax – and yet at the same time, he wants to move away from the man, putting more distance between the two of them. He can’t say why. The man pulls the chair next to his bed and sits down. He just waits, weirdly fascinated by the man, especially when the man starts to smile, small and gentle. Trustworthy.

(A feeling that starts in the back of his neck tells him something isn’t right. Something doesn’t add up. But it’s like his heart recognizes the man – or part of him, at least. And that’s more than he can say about himself. Why shouldn’t he trust the man when he seems more familiar than himself?)

“How are you feeling?” the man asks, his voice laced with concern. It sounds sincere. 

He doesn’t know how to answer that. How should he feel? Is this numbness normal? Because he doesn’t know how to answer it, he asks instead: “Who am I?”

The man blinks, looking taken aback. “You don’t remember?” He shakes his head. The man sighs, a crestfallen look on his face. He feels guilty, like it’s his fault he doesn’t remember anything and is making the man sad. The urge to apologize comes over him, but he doesn’t get a chance to say anything. “Well, we should’ve expected that. You did hit your head pretty hard. Temporary amnesia is not uncommon.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. Somehow, even though he doesn’t know who he is, or who the man is, or where he is, he does know what amnesia means. Memory loss. It explains this. He looks at the man, waiting for him to answer his question.

“Your name is Siegfried,” the man says. “Does it sound familiar?”

Siegfried. He kind of hopes the name would make the numbness go away, that it is like an epiphany and he suddenly remembers everything. But it doesn’t. It’s just a name. _His_ name. Siegfried shakes his head no.

“What about Spider?” the man asks.

_Something is missing_ , Siegfried thinks, but doesn’t say it. He can’t say why it feels like this, why it only tickles the inside of his brain and not more. “Is that my last name?”

The man huffs in amusement, the corner of his mouths moving upwards. “No. It’s like a nickname. Do you remember who I am?”

Siegfried takes a good look at the man. He’s older than him and they have similar hair and eye colors. Furthermore, there’s this familiar feeling about him, a feeling that starts deep in his gut and tells him that this man is trustworthy, is his friend. He can’t say what causes it or where it comes from, but it’s there. It has to mean something, right? “Are you my father?”

The man’s smile falls and his eyes turn sad. Clearly, that isn’t the right answer, and Siegfried wants to take it back, doing anything to get that smile back. “My name is Thomas, and I’m not your biological father, but you’re like a son to me, Siegfried. Your parents and I were very close, we worked together. When they died, they asked me to look after you.”

Siegfried thinks he should feel something, _anything_ , at discovering that his parents are dead but he doesn’t. Maybe he would if he could remember them. “Do we live here?” He hopes not. It doesn’t feel homey at all. Just … cold and sterile. Who would want to live in a place like this?

“Yes and no. It’s one of HYDRA’s many hideouts.”

“HYDRA?”

(The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and a chill runs down his back. He dismisses it, thinking it’s because of the cold metal bedframe.)

“Yes, HYDRA. Our home.” Thomas waits a moment for Siegfried to remember, but nothing comes to mind. “It’s an organization, and your parents, as well as you and me, were firm believers of what they teach and what they try to achieve. It’s a tragedy that they died, but they died fighting for our cause. A very heroic death.”

“What is our cause, then?” Thomas sighs deeply, and Siegfried immediately feels like he just asked a stupid question. More guilt replaces the numbness in him. If he could just remember, he wouldn’t have to ask about any of this. He wouldn’t be this inconvenient. 

“HYDRA wants peace,” Thomas eventually explains. “We want a peaceful world that’s in order, where everyone follows the rules and lives in harmony. But, sadly, not everyone agrees with our believes.” Siegfried frowns. Who wouldn’t want a peaceful world? Why would anyone object this? “You see, in order to have peace, we need rules and someone who makes sure that these rules are followed. But some people don’t like rules. They believe that everyone should just do what they want, but history has proven over and over that a society without rules and order descends into chaos. So, they fight us. And we fight back, doing everything we can to ensure our vision will come true. Your parents were very brave, fantastic agents, who fought on the front lines. They always wanted you to follow in their footsteps, to make this world a better place.” A gentle smile appears on his face. “And you do. You’re HYDRA’s youngest agents in history.”

Siegfried blinks, stunned by the words. “I’m an agent?”

“Yes, you are. A pretty good one, too. Your parents would be very proud of you” The smile widens and warmth flushes through Siegfried’s veins. He’s good at what he does, he’s fighting for a better world, making his parents proud.

“Are you an agent, too?”

To his surprise, Thomas laughs. Siegfried doesn’t know what’s so funny about the question. “Well, not like you or your parents, but I do important work for HYDRA. I’m a scientist and engineer, mostly designing the equipment.”

(Memories flash across Siegfried’s eyes. A lab of some sort, packed with tools and metal parts alike, half-finished machines and robots taking up most of the workbenches. Messy brown hair, a goatee, a carefree laugh.

That has to be Thomas, he’s sure of it. Who else could it be?)

Thomas keeps looking at him, probably expecting him to ask more questions, but Siegfried doesn’t know what to say. It feels like he _should_ ask questions, but he doesn’t even know where to begin. He doesn’t know what’s important and what’s not, doesn’t know how to proceed or prioritize. He’s directionless.

“Hey,” Thomas says gently and places a hand on his arm. For some reason, Siegfried expects the hand to be rough and calloused, marked from the work he does in the lab. But it’s not. It’s soft and smooth, like everything rolls off of it. “I know this must be very scary for you. But I’ll promise you that everything will be fine. Your memories will come back.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then I’ll teach you everything you need to know all over again. Don’t worry about it. HYDRA is your home, your family. We’re not going to abandon you because you’ve got trouble remembering things.” He gives Siegfried a soft smile, one that reaches his eyes, and it’s such a familiar sight that it calms Siegfried’s panicking heart. “You can trust me, Siegfried. I would never lie to you.”

* * *

Thomas gives him something to eat and dark clothes to change into before they leave the room. The hallway is not as bright as his room, but has an equally distant and cold feeling to it. The noises here are much louder to the point that they are almost too distracting.

“It feels cold,” Siegfried voices his thoughts. “Not like a home.”

“A home is not always a place,” Thomas explains. “It’s the people around you. The place we’re in right now is merely a place to eat, sleep, and train. It’s not meant to feel like a home, because agents move a lot. We don’t want them to feel too attached to one place.”

Siegfried doesn’t know if the answer makes any sense to him, but there’s a certain finality in Thomas’ voice that doesn’t allow any more questions. They walk in silence until they enter a room that is filled with medical equipment and people in white coats are walking around, checking the machines and writing on clipboards, barely paying any attention to them, not saying anything when he gives them a timid hello.

They will examine him, Thomas explains, as Siegfried gets hooked up to several of the machines. It sounds reasonable. After all, they need to check if he is okay – besides the memory loss, of course. Thomas has told him that he got the injury on his last mission, fighting against their enemies and got a pretty bad hit against the backside of his head.

(When Thomas hasn’t been looking at him, Siegfried touched the back of his head, looking for a sore spot. He hasn’t found one.)

The other scientists barely speak to him, and Thomas switches from speaking to them in an unfamiliar language to soothing Siegfried’s nerves in a soft voice. They take blood samples, make him spit in a tube, hook him up to several machines and let him run on a treadmill, cut off strands of his hair and so on. Even though he doesn’t understand what they’re saying, he can tell by the tone of their voices and their exhilarated heartbeats that they are excited.

After that, Thomas takes him to a gym where another man is waiting for him. He’s very tall and bulky, dressed entirely in black with guns strapped to his legs as well as a knife. His hair is cut so short, Siegfried can barely see it, he has a kind of ageless face, and his eyes are cold and hard, tracking every single move Siegfried makes. There’s this urge to back away and leave the room, to not turn his back to this man, but Thomas’ hand on his back pushes him further.

“Siegfried, this is Schneider.” Schneider doesn’t say anything, but his eyes move up and down Siegfried’s body. “He trains you in combat and everything else you need for your missions, has done it for years. Do you remember him?”

“No.”

“No, _Sir_ ,” Schneider corrects in a hard accent. “I am not tolerating disorder just because you lost your memories. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” Siegfried answers immediately.

Schneider doesn’t look satisfied. In fact, he looks quite the opposite of it, but whatever it is that bothers him, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he turns his head to Thomas. “You have done all the tests, yes?”

“Of course. Besides his memory loss, there are no other injuries, so he’s good to train.”

Schneider nods and looks back at Siegfried. “Run.”

So, Siegfried runs. He doesn’t ask why, he’s not even sure he’s allowed to ask, but he also doesn’t want to anger Schneider. A feeling deep inside his chest tells him it would be a bad idea. The two men stand at the sideline, talking quietly, again in a language that Siegfried doesn’t understand. To clear his mind, he concentrates on the movements, the way his feet hit the gym floor rhythmically, the way he finds an easy but fast pace that allows him to run lap after lap after lap without tiring. It’s a very familiar thing, like his body remembers how to properly run laps even though his brain doesn’t. At some point, he blocks out everything around him. There is just the monotonous movement of running, his regular breathing and his directionless thoughts. Not that there are a lot of them. He knows too little to really think about anything.

(There are questions, though. Too many to really grasp them, so Siegfried tries to push them away until he’s alone with Thomas.)

He runs until Schneider tells him to stop. Then the man walks over to him, every step purposeful, his gaze demanding Siegfried to stay still, stand tall, and be alert. There’s a light tingle on the back of his neck, and Siegfried kind of wants to touch the spot, to swipe away whatever is tickling him, but he doesn’t dare to move.

“You can still run,” Schneider says. Siegfried doesn’t know if he’s supposed to answer this, so he keeps quiet. “But can you still fight?”

Schneider swings his arm at his head, and for a second, Siegfried panics – then he moves out of the way, already done with the movement before he can even think about what he just did. Schneider strikes again and again, but the boy keeps moving. His body knows how to move and, somehow, he knows where Schneider wants to hit him. Maybe it’s the tingling in his neck, that has spread through his body, or pure, simple intuition – maybe they’re both the same thing. Siegfried doesn’t question it, not when the alternative is to get punched in the face. Schneider doesn’t like it though, he can tell. His punches come faster, his kicks aim at more vulnerable places, and when Siegfried blocks one of his punches, he can feel the strength behind him. Schneider isn’t fighting to find out what he remembers – he’s fighting to hurt him.

And he does hurt him. Schneider spins around, raising his foot to hit him in the chest, and Siegfried wants to move out of the way – but suddenly, he doesn’t see the tall, intimidating man, but a graceful woman with short, red hair who is also spinning, jumping up to kick him. Siegfried gets hit. He crashes down on the hard mat, hard enough to press all the air out of his lungs. However, when he opens his eyes, the red-headed woman is gone, and Schneider looks down at him. Siegfried isn’t really surprised when he sees a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.

“You need more training,” he only says, not helping Siegfried back on his feet. “You are not aggressive enough and you do not fight like you want to win.”

“But this is only training,” Siegfried mutters. He barely registers Schneider’s hand flying through the air before he slaps him across the face. It stings – a lot.

“You are training for your missions. If you do not win on a mission, you die. Treat each training like it is a mission. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I think this is enough for today,” Thomas says, walking over to them. He puts his hand on Siegfried’s shoulder in a comforting gesture, and he can’t help but lean into it. Even after the brief time with Schneider, Thomas’ warmth is more than welcome. “It’s been quite an eventful day, hasn’t it, Siegfried?”

Siegfried barely nods, his eyes still on Schneider, who only stares back. The tingling in his neck doesn’t stop.

* * *

Siegfried adapts. The first thing he learns is that he asks too many questions – which is a shame, because he really likes talking, sharing all the thoughts that fly through his mind at the same speed. Thomas answers most of them with a soft smile and a reasonable explanation. But at some point, there’s always a certain kind of sharpness to tersely answers that tells Siegfried to stop. He doesn’t even try to ask Schneider any questions, only talking to him when the man orders him to.

There’s also a difference between learning and remembering, which Siegfried finds out very fast. He remembers he’s good at acrobatics when he dodged Schneider’s kick with a flip. When Thomas sets a circuit board in front of him, Siegfried’s hands fly over it, already taking it apart and transforming it into something new, while laws of physics, equations, and other technical jargon flashes before his eyes. He likes it; the flipping and the tinkering.

(Thomas isn’t surprised about his acrobatic skills, but about his passion for engineering. Siegfried wants to ask him about his memories of the lab and them building together, but Thomas wears the expression that tells him to not ask.)

Learning is more difficult than remembering. While he remembers English perfectly, and recognizes some Spanish and a few Italian words – he’s not good with languages, which is something he remembers quickly – Thomas insists he also knows German and Russian. He says everyone here speaks it. That his parents spoke it, and he speaks it, too. But no matter how hard he tries to understand the unfamiliar words, they mean nothing to Siegfried. So, he has to learn. Learns the impossibly long German words, and the unfamiliar Russian letters, and pretends to remember the words, while hiding the books under his bed to learn when he is supposed to sleep. 

Schneider expects him to know how to shoot a gun. They’re standing in a shooting range, a target made out of paper hanging a few feet in front of them, and Schneider is holding a black gun out for him to grab. Siegfried takes it, hoping his body would just recognize the weapon and he would have a flash of genius what to do. It doesn’t happen. The weapon sits uncomfortably in his hand, the weight not exactly heavy but unfamiliar. He misses the target. By far. Schneider is not happy. Siegfried has to learn how to shoot a gun. He also has to learn how to wield a knife and use several other weapons, all as unfamiliar as the gun.

One day, Thomas gives him a black book with a red logo on it. “It’s HYDRA’s manifesto, if you want to call it that,” he explains. “I thought it might help you remember.”

It doesn’t help. Every single line in the book feels new and… weird. Siegfried knows that this is what he believes in, that he’s fighting for this. Thomas has told him it’s for a peaceful world. It’s for a good cause. But something doesn’t seem right. The book talks about some people being inferior to others, being purely evil and selfish, calls them mutants, abominations, freaks and scum, the reason for all the bad in the world. It calls for one group of people to control everyone else. It is unsettling, but for now, Siegfried just accepts it. It’ll make more sense to him when he has his memories back. It has to. This is his family, his home – it can’t be bad.

When Thomas asks him if he liked the book, he lies and says yes.

* * *

When Siegfried breaks both arms of a man during training without even meaning to, he learns that he’s different.

Schneider invited another agent to join them, showing Siegfried several techniques to hold someone down. While the boy knows how to fight, how to attack and defend himself, he is lacking in the detaining area. His body always wants to throw his wrist forward in a useless move, and he knows Schneider would only get mad at him if he does it, so he keeps that urge down. 

“You have to hold his arms like this,” Schneider explains, turning the _th_ into a sharp _z_. The other agent is on his knees, and Schneider grabs his arms from behind and pulls them back firmly. “Use a lot of strength.” Siegfried nods and takes his place, placing his hands on the arms and then pulling them back with some strength behind it.

He can hear the bones snap. He can _feel_ it.

The agent screams, full of agony, and completely terrified; Siegfried lets go of him, jumping back a couple of steps. The man still screams, his arms angled in an unnatural way. Schneider is next to the man and says something, but Siegfried can’t register the words. Blood rushes in his ears and he can only stare at his hands in utter betrayal.

Siegfried doesn’t remember Schneider and the agent leaving. He doesn’t remember Thomas entering the gym either, too engrossed in his panicking thoughts, still staring at his shaking hands. “Siegfried?” There’s a phantom feeling of fragile bones snapping under is fingers lingering on his skin. “Siegfried, answer me.”

“I-,“ he stutters, “I-I didn’t want to- I just- Schneider told me I have to use a lot of strength, like he did, and I _did_ , but-“ Thomas doesn’t interrupt him, but lays a hand on his shoulder. It feels heavy.

Siegfried takes a few deep breaths, the words from the HYDRA manifesto echoing in his head. Something presses down on his chest, ties around it, cutting off the oxygen and choking him. He knows what this means. Knew it the second he felt the bones snap. “I’m an abomination.”

Thomas looks sad, heartbroken even, and tears stream down Siegfried’s face before he can stop them. _He_ is what is wrong with this world. He is evil. “Don’t cry,” Thomas says – or maybe orders – but the young man can’t stop the tears. “Siegfried, stop. Agents don’t cry.”

“But I’m not an agent,” he sobs. “I’m- I am-“

“I know, but listen to me,” Thomas’ hands press down on his shoulders, demanding attention from him, “you can be both. Abomination and agent. You are the exception from the rule.”

“The exception?” But there are no exceptions. The book is very clear on that.

Thomas nods solemnly. “Nature works in mysterious ways. Your parents were – genetically speaking – completely ordinary people. And yet, from the second you were born, you were different.”

(There is a sharp pinch on the back of Siegfried’s hand that he almost misses. A mosquito, he thinks. Or maybe a different bug.)

“But your parents… they loved you despite everything. And they knew they could convince HYDRA that you’re not evil. That you can be good and an ally to us, given the right training. That’s why you became an agent. To atone for the sin you were born with, that you had no control over. By serving us, by spreading our message, you fight that evil part in you.”

Siegfried stares at the older man, the tears slowly drying up. He is what’s wrong with the world, and yet HYDRA took him in, gives him shelter and food and a family, even though he can’t fully remember them right now. And all they ask in return is that he fights for them. It seems fair, noble even.

Besides, where would he even go? He can’t remember anything or anyone. He doesn’t know if he has some other family out in the world, and even if he does, he doesn’t know where they are. Or if they would even want him. Surely, other people won’t be so nice to him. They’ll know that he isn’t normal, the book says it’s very easy to spot. What other choice does he have but HYDRA?

“And you?” he asks, his heart beating in his throat, already fearing the answer. “What do- What do you think?”

The sad look on Thomas’ face turns soft and loving, as he brushes the knuckles of his hand over his wet cheeks. “I told you. You’re like a son to me, no matter if you’re human or not.” Siegfried can only stare for him, and the man tilts his head to the side. “You do believe me, don’t you? You know I would never lie to you.”

Siegfried only nods. Underneath his fingertips, he can still feel the bones snapping.

* * *

Besides having super strength, Siegfried also sticks to walls. Walking on the ceiling feels just as natural as walking on the floor. He also learns that all his senses are sharper than the ones of humans. Apparently, it’s not normal to hear the heartbeat of other people or see particles of dust whirling through the air. Then, there’s also his enhanced healing factor which they test by cutting his arm open several times, just to be sure. Even though he’s healing fast, he – sadly – still feels all the pain.

(He doesn’t mention the tingling in his neck, thinking it’s basic intuition.)

“All that you need now,” Thomas says one day, as they walk into a fully stocked lab, “are your webs, and then you can be Spider again.”

“Spider?” Siegfried remembers the name, the one that feels incomplete, but his eyes travel over the labels of the chemicals. In his mind, he sees the periodic table, sees all the ways elements can form a bond, and create something new.

“It’s your alias on missions. Your abilities are very similar to those of a spider. And, of course, there are your webs.” He leads him to a workbench that is filled with different tools and equipment, an empty notebook next to it. “Your webs, however, are man-made. You made them yourself, actually. And now, you will make them again. All you gotta do is remember how to make them and then write it down.”

“Don’t you have the formula already? Can’t I just use that one?”

That was a bad question. Siegfried can see it in the way Thomas’ eye twitches, and he instantly feels guilty about it. He shouldn’t anger him. He is the only reason Siegfried isn’t alone. He’s the only one who can see past the evilness inside him.

“You never shared it with us,” Thomas says in a slightly cold voice. “Which, considering the situation we have right now, was very stupid. So, make sure to write it down, okay?” Siegfried only nods, not meeting his eyes as he sits down on the work station, and stares blankly at the stark white pages of the notebook, hoping the solution to this task will just pop up in front of his eyes.

It doesn’t.

“I can’t do it,” he confesses when Thomas returns several hours later. “I can’t remember anything. I don’t even know if I’m good at chemistry!”

Thomas looks at him for a long moment, searching his face for something. Siegfried can feel the anxiety building up in his chest, rising to his throat and crushing his windpipe. Then, the man sighs. It feels like one of Schneider’s punches. “I am very disappointed, Siegfried. You’re not trying hard enough.”

“I-I am trying!”

“Then why don’t you have the formula yet?” Siegfried has no answer to that, and looks down at his fidgeting hands. “If you don’t have your webs, you can’t go on a mission. And if you can’t go on missions, you’re no use to HYDRA. And if that’s the case… I’m not sure if they let you stay here.”

His head snaps back up as a devastating, panicky feeling settles inside his chest. That can’t happen. He doesn’t have any other place to be. Besides, HYDRA would surely kill him. He is what they are fighting. If he’s no use to them, they will make sure that his evilness can’t infect the world. “I’m going to figure it out,” he hurries to say, flipping the notebook to a new page and grabbing the pen again. “You’ll see, I have it in no time! I promise!”

It takes Siegfried two days to figure out the exact formula for the webs. Not by looking at a periodic table and writing down different combinations of the elements, but by mixing together fluids he is mysteriously drawn to. After that, he only needs to get the proportions right, writing down every single step.

When he shows Thomas the finished web fluid, he feels immensely proud. “They’re strong and elastic, because the tensile strength is extraordinary,” he explains as he demonstrates them with the shooting prototype around his wrist. The design for them suddenly popped into his head as he’s been mixing the chemicals together. “And they are sticky, of course. There’s no surface they wouldn’t stick to.”

“Very good, Siegfried.” The boy grins as Thomas continues to inspect the web. “Can you make them deadly?”

All the giddy excitement inside Siegfried flushes out of him, being replaced by a cold feeling that he identifies as deeply wrong. Everything inside him screams at him to shake his head, to say there is no way to make them harmful to anyone. They’re a tool, not a weapon. There is barely any air in his lungs to whisper: “What?”

“They can be very useful,” Thomas continues, not noticing Siegfried’s discomfort. Or maybe just ignoring it. “Almost impossible to break or get out of.”

“But… they’re for transportation.” At least, he thinks that that’s what they are for. When he mixed together all the chemicals, he had a vision of using them like a swing, shooting them at buildings and defying gravity. That thought and the warm, carefree feeling inside his gut were the things that kept him motivated between hour 21 and 25.

Thomas’ eyes move to him, his expression unreadable, and Siegfried gets nervous. He feels like he made a mistake again. Should he have worked on making them deadly right from the start?

(No.)

“You have to think outside the box,” the scientist explains, a small, gentle smile on his face. Siegfried knows that smile. It usually means that Thomas knows better than him, that he should listen to the man and not talk back. “You will be a very useful asset to HYDRA if you do.”

Siegfried knows this isn’t a suggestion. He has to be an asset to the organization, because if he isn’t…

Even though everything inside him screams at him to stop, to resist, Siegfried starts working on a way to make the webs deadly. In the end, he gives them the ability to conduct electricity and builds a small but efficient power source inside his shooters, to make them latch onto his victim and shock them – all the way until their insides are fried.

Thomas makes him test it on a rabbit. Siegfried wants to throw up when he hears the little heart stop, but schools his face in a careful mask. Thomas is very pleased with him, swinging an arm around his shoulder and pressing him into his side. The gesture is soothing, so deeply familiar that all his tense muscles relax in an instant – but it’s not enough to banish the clawing feeling inside his stomach that he did something terrible and deeply wrong.

* * *

Dreams become sacred to Siegfried, because he quickly realizes that they’re not dreams but memories. His nights are filled with images of small, homey apartments, burned food, brightly colored plastic bricks, labs with blue, floating screens, a gym, movies, laughter, and – most importantly – an almost burning feeling of love that stays with him for the first few minutes when he wakes up.

There are always other people with him in the memories, but he can’t see their faces, only vague shapes and odd little details. The woman with the burned food has long, brown hair. The boy with the plastic bricks and movies is heavy set. The woman in the gym is the redheaded woman he saw in his first training session with Schneider. The man with the floating screens and the booming laughter has a neatly trimmed beard.

(It has to be Thomas, Siegfried decides. Whenever he comes to that conclusion, a burning feeling of love inside his chest reduces to a glimmer.)

* * *

When Siegfried starts using his webs during training, it becomes a lot more fun. Using the webs is as natural as breathing and listening to the tingle at the back of his neck. He hasn’t been terrible at fighting before, but the webs elevate him to an entirely different level. Literally and figuratively. No other agent is a match for him anymore because they can’t catch him. Whenever they try, Siegfried sticks a web to the ceiling and flies through the air.

And he loves it. Swinging from his webs and defying all laws of physics while doing it is pure, childish fun for him. Before he knows what is happening, a laugh bubbles up inside his chest as he flips through the air, and he can’t contain it. He doesn’t want to. He has fun. He is happy. For the first time since he woke up, he feels entirely good.

The bullet that comes for him misses him by a hair, burying itself into the concrete of the ceiling. At once, all the fun and happiness inside Siegfried is replaced by the now familiar feeling of dread. He drops to the floor, landing on his feet with a soft _thud_ , arms clasped behind his back, and eyes forward. Schneider stomps over to him, the gun still in his hand. “Do you know what you did wrong?”

“No, Sir.”

Schneider yanks one of Siegfried’s arms forward, using more strength than necessary, and holds up his wrist with the web shooter. Siegfried learned to not flinch at the pain anymore. “This is a weapon, not a toy. You will treat it with the same respect you treat a gun or a knife. It is for fighting, not for amusement. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” Siegfried is careful to not let his disappointment show on his face.

“Take them off,” Schneider orders, nodding to the web shooters. “You already control them. You do not need more training with them. But you need more hand-to-hand combat training.” Siegfried barely has enough time to unclasp the devices from his wrists when the first punch comes his way.

* * *

“What are you doing?” Thomas asks, looking at Siegfried with a bewildered expression.

Siegfried stops the motion of his hand mid-air. “Just… trying to open the screens.” It’s the first time since creating his webs that Thomas allowed him inside the labs to work with him, and Siegfried couldn’t be happier about it. There is not a lot to do for him here, and he spends his days training or learning German, Russian, and whatever else Thomas insists he knows but can’t remember. The man explained to him that he is only allowed to work on the assignments he gives Siegfried, but he doesn’t care as long as he can be here. He dreams about the labs so often, it feels like coming home.

(Not really. The memory of the dead rabbit is still fresh, and there is something… cold about this lab. Like something is off.)

“And you tried doing it by punching the air, silly?” Thomas jokes with a small smile, and Siegfried feels his cheeks heating up, shame crushing over him. He wants to do good, to prove that he can work in the lab, so he can come back often. “Why did you think that would work?”

“It always worked in my dreams.”

That gets Thomas’ full attention. He turns to him, setting down his notes, and comes closer to Siegfried. “Your dreams?” He nods. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t really think they’re dreams but memories that came back.” The emotion in Thomas’ eyes shift, and Siegfried hurries to continue, not liking that particular gleam in them. “And I-I saw us in a lab, but I don’t think it was this one. Maybe one in a different hideout? And there were these blue screens and they moved around the room and there was loud music and-and we just had a lot of fun…”

For a long moment, Thomas doesn’t say anything, causing Siegfried’s anxiety to spike up. Did he make a mistake? Would he kick him out? His eyes are analyzing, looking at him like he is a bug in a program he needs to fix. The look makes the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Eventually, Thomas speaks, but there is a hardness to his voice that lets Siegfried know that he messed up. “I am happy that you seem to get your memories back, Siegfried, but you have to tell me things like that. Okay?” Siegfried just nods, eyes averted to the ground. “It’s very important for your recovery. In fact, I was waiting for it.”

With a nod of his head, Thomas tells him to follow, leading them into a small room that is only illuminated by a single, naked lightbulb. In the middle of a room is a very scary looking chair – the kind Siegfried remembers from his dreams, when he’s watching movies that make him jump in surprise. Around the chair are several machines, wires hanging loose from them.

The tingling in his neck is back.

“Take a seat,” Thomas says as he turns on the machines. Even though his tone is nice enough, Siegfried knows it’s not a suggestion. Telling himself everything will be alright, he sits down, and Thomas begins to attach the wires to his skull. There is a small, but painful pinch every time he sticks the needle of the electrodes into his skin that makes him flinch because he’s not prepared for it. “This device will help you sharpen your memories. I assume they are all fuzzy?” Siegfried nods his head, ignoring the pain from the electrodes at the movement. “It will be like lifting a veil or clearing a kind of fog. Just tell me what you remember. Start with your memories of the lab.”

Nodding once more, Siegfried closes his eyes, listening to all the clicking and clacking of the inner workings of the machines. There is a very high-pitched ringing that irritates him, making his head ache and difficult to concentrate. Trying to block all of the noises and discomfort out, he searches his memory.

An unfocused image shows up before his eyes. “There are blue screens. The ones that float around the room.”

The high-pitched ringing is getting sharper, turning the ache in his skull into a pulsing pain. “Concentrate, Siegfried. They aren’t floating. They are on big screens.” As he listens to Thomas’ words, the image changes. The screens change, they stop moving around and imbed themselves into computer screens. “Can you see that?” Hesitantly, Siegfried nods. “Good. Continue.”

“There is music. Loud music.” He also thinks there’s a female voice, but he isn’t quite sure if she’s part of that music or not.

“It’s not music. It’s the sound of the other machines in the lab.” The unfamiliar music inside his head turns into familiar beeping and drumming. The female voice disappears. “What else do you remember about the lab?”

The faceless man appears and for a second, Siegfried thinks about not telling Thomas. A wrenching feeling inside his gut urges him to keep quiet, to keep this man from Thomas. But isn’t that man Thomas? “Someone is there. You, I think.”

“That is right. I’m in the lab with you.” For the blink of an eye, the face focuses – but it’s not Thomas’ face. There are more prominent wrinkles around his eyes, his beard is slightly different, his nose is more curved, the eyes big and almost sparkly. Then, before Siegfried can even remember that face, it’s suddenly Thomas looking at him. “Can you see that?”

Siegfried sees the blue screens on the computer, can hear the loud noises of the machines, and Thomas standing beside him. The imagine feels weird, but maybe that’s normal when you suddenly remember something. “Yes.”

“Good. You did very good, Siegfried. Now, what else did you see?”

After that day, they work on his memories like this daily. The redheaded woman turns out to be a man, his childhood trainer who was killed a few years ago, which led to Schneider taking over. The boy was someone he had to con during his first undercover mission. The longhaired woman was a nurse from a different hideout.

Slowly, his dreams turn into those versions. A tight knot forms in his stomach.

* * *

Thomas dyes his hair. Siegfried can see the change. There are times when his hair is suddenly a few shades darker than the day before, and he smells like chemicals that burn his nostrils. He never comments on it. Everyone is entitled to a little vanity.

* * *

There are not a lot of other people in the hideout who talk to Siegfried. In fact, the only people who really talk to him are Thomas and Schneider. The other agents watch him and talk about him, Siegfried is more than aware of that. However, no one ever makes a move to introduce themselves. Sometimes, the boy ponders if he should introduce himself to them, if he should just walk over and join their conversation, but whenever he tries to the agents move away pretty quick.

They still talk about him though, either not caring or not knowing about his super hearing.

Siegfried is in the gym, lifting weights to warm himself up for his work-out. All the weights in the gym are stacked on the bar and he still barely breaks a sweat.

“Er ist stark,” one of the agents whispers to the one next to him in German.

Siegfried almost drops the weights as a feeling like lighting jerks through his body. Something about that sentence feels different, feels… important, but he can’t say what about it or why. Thomas told him a lot of times that he was strong – even Schneider on odd occasions –, and yet he never got that reaction from his compliments. What is different this time?

He turns around, ready to ask the agents about it, but they’re already gone, leaving Siegfried confused and with a racing heart.

* * *

“Could you tell me about my parents?” Siegfried asks shyly. He psyched himself up for the past few minutes, knowing that Thomas isn’t always reacting great to his questions.

Today seems to be a good day, though. The scientist looks up from his microscope, not angry about the question at all. “Your parents?”

Siegfried nods, grateful for the man’s good mood. “Please? I just… I don’t remember them. They don’t appear in my dreams, and I… I want to know about them. What they were like.”

“Oh, Siegfried.” A gentle, almost sad smile spreads on Thomas’ face as he turns around, leaning forward to grab his hand and giving it a brief squeeze. “They loved you, never forget that. And they were heroes, fighting for our cause. You three together… you could’ve made all of HYDRA’s visions come true, I’m sure of it.”

For a second, he tries to imagine it. Him and his parents (two faceless figures), standing side by side, and doing important work to keep the world safe. He liked that idea – a lot. And he would do everything he could to ensure that HYDRA will get what it wants. Not because it’s where he belongs, but to also honor his parents. It’s their legacy and he will carry it proudly.

“What were their names? Do you have any pictures of them? Are they buried somewhere around here? If so, can I-“ Thomas’ expression changes to the one that tells him to stop asking questions, so Siegfried shuts his mouth soundly.

“All our agents are cremated and their ashes are thrown into the ocean, you know that. There are no pictures of them. They often took undercover missions, so there had to be as little evidence of who they truly were as possible.” A cold, heavy stone made out of disappointment drops inside his stomach. “Their names were Marie and Richard Möller.”

Siegfried blinks in wonder. Marie and Richard Möller. German names, easily recognizable because of the typical hissing _ch_ and the _ö_. There is a strange feeling of familiarity to it. Something tickles the inside of his brain, like it tries to tell him to dig deeper, to find out more, but nothing more comes up.

Siegfried Möller. That’s his name. He thinks it should move something inside him, make him have a sudden epiphany, but he doesn’t. It’s just a name.

(It doesn’t make sense. His parents were apparently German – why didn’t they teach him German instead of English? Especially if everyone in HYDRA speaks it. Why does this feel wrong?)

Something must have shown on his face, because Thomas comes closer, squeezing his hand again. “Hey. I know this must be difficult, but I’ll always be here for you. You can trust me, Siegfried.”

Siegfried nods. He trusts Thomas. He has to. No one else answers his questions. And he wouldn’t lie to him.

Right?

* * *

They move to a different hideout and he gets a new room. It’s smaller than the other one, with a modest bathroom, a simple bed, dresser, desk, chair, and a bookshelf, filled with the few books Thomas gave to him. They’re not fiction, only about science, engineering, languages, HYDRA’s history, and the likes. There is no one-way mirror (Siegfried figured out what was when he could hear their heartbeats one night), but instead a small window, high up on the wall, half the size of his head.

The tension in his shoulders that Siegfried always ignores eases up a little.

* * *

Seven months and three days after Siegfried woke up with no memories, Schneider takes him on his first mission. He doesn’t know the details of the mission, only that they have to capture a man and get information from him. Siegfried doesn’t question that he knows nothing about the mission, because Schneider and Thomas made it very clear that this is like a training mission, one where he should primarily observe and learn, only acting if he’s told to.

They give him a uniform to change into – black pants, a black, leather-like jacket, gloves, a mask that covers the lower half of his face, endless straps and holsters for all his weapons, and, finally, his web shooters. The entire uniform is restricting, making the free movements he needs to use his webs properly a bit more difficult than he likes, but he doesn’t say anything.

In the middle of the night, they all board a military plane and take off. Nobody tells him where they’re going – Siegfried doesn’t even know where their current hideout is. Thomas always tells him that he knows everything he needs to know and nothing more, just in case someone kidnaps him and tries to get information out of him. It does make sense, so Siegfried ignores the bad feeling he gets whenever anyone gives him that answer.

Hours later, they land in the middle of nowhere. The land looks barren, mostly made out of sand and rocky ground with few plants between them. In the distance stands a run-down house with a well and a shed that a few goats run into to hide when their plane lands. Before Siegfried can wonder what kind of information a man could have who lives such a withdrawn life, they’re already moving, storming the house, guns loaded and held high.

Schneider is right behind him and Siegfried feels his eyes on him as someone kicks the door in. There is screaming – English, German, Russian, languages that he can’t understand. For a moment, everything is utter chaos as the other agents move inside the small house. When it calms down, a shiver shoots up Siegfried’s spine.

The man – who is begging on his knees in the unfamiliar language, shaking like a leaf – is not alone. In the corner of the room, held at gunpoint, are his wife and three kids, the oldest not looking older than ten years. They’re all crying, clinging to their mother, screaming and wailing, and the room is suddenly filled with the sharp smell of fear and urine.

(Siegfried could use his web shooters. He could take all of the guns, knock the agents out, maybe even electrocute them until they’re unconscious, and give the family a head start to run. He knows he’s better than pretty much all of the agents in this room, it would only take a second. The only tricky part would be Schneider, but he is a lot stronger than him.

But if he does any of that, he would turn into HYDRA’s enemy. He can’t turn against his family. Against the only people who accept him for who he is.)

One agent starts screaming questions in the same unknown language. The man gives him shaky, rambling answers that are obviously not satisfying because the agent smacks him across the face. His family in the corner screams before pressing themselves even further into the wall, the mother shielding her kids with her body, a fearful yet fierce look on her face.

It goes on for several minutes. Screamed questions, nervous answers, tears, and wails. Siegfried tries to ignore it, tries to turn everything into white noise, to disconnect himself from the situation – but then Schneider speaks to him.

“Shoot him,” he orders.

“What?” The question slips out before Siegfried can think twice about it, breaking one of the most important rules: obey, don’t ask questions.

The man’s eyes darken. “He is of no use for us. Shoot him.” Siegfried’s heart stops beating. His hands start to shake. No. He doesn’t want to. He can’t! This man has a family, a family that is in the room right now. “Spider, it is an order.”

“But-“

Schneider doesn’t let him finish. He raises his own gun, faster than Siegfried can register, and shoots. Not Siegfried, not the man – but the oldest boy in the corner who falls to the floor immediately. A small, neat hole right between his eyebrows. Siegfried freezes, watching the lifeless body, the screams and cries morphing into one heartbreaking noise.

(Shooting the other agents would only take a few seconds. Schneider taught him how to shoot well. And Siegfried heals fast. He’s pretty sure he would survive a few days on his own, running away from HYDRA, getting a new identity. Maybe live in a cave somewhere. Anything but this.)

“Shoot him,” Schneider repeats, his gun still raised.

“I-“

Another shot. The middle child falls. A girl, maybe seven or eight.

(He wouldn’t even need his gun or his webs. He’s strong enough to crush a skull with his bare hands. Schneider told him often enough. Wouldn’t it be ironic if Schneider died like that?)

“Shoot him.”

Siegfried’s thoughts tumble through his head, jumping from one point to another. For a second, he thinks about taking Schneider’s command literally, to just shoot the man in his shoulder – but Siegfried knows what Schneider wants from him. He wants him to shoot the man in the head. To kill him. Slowly, he raises his gun, pointing it at the man.

(No!)

He shoots.

And he misses. A potted plant shatters, sending dirt and the plant flying through the air.

(The feeling of relief clashes against his fear of Schneider finding out he did it on purpose.)

For a fraction of a second, time stands still. Nobody dares to even draw a breath. Then, another shot rings through the air. The wife falls to the ground, almost taking the youngest child with her. “Do not miss,” Schneider hisses, which is the most emotion he ever got from him.

Almost in a robotic-like fashion, Siegfried raises his gun again.

(No, don’t do it, you don’t have to, you don’t kill, no, no, nonononoNONONONONO _NONONONO **NO**_!)

He shoots.

The man falls to the ground.

The bullet is buried in his forehead.

(Siegfried has the urge to put the next bullet inside his own head.)

Another shot takes Siegfried completely by surprise. The last child goes down. A part of him wonders if it was a mercy kill, but he knows better. HYDRA has no mercy. Not when you’re not useful to them.

He’s frozen, paralyzed to his bones, when Schneider steps in front of him, his eyes icy cold. Siegfried expects a slap across his face, but it doesn’t come. He kind of wants it to come. Anything to distract him from this absolutely horrible feeling inside of him. “You will obey my commands. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” he breathes, more muscle memory than his brain working properly.

The message is loud and clear: Obey or people die.

* * *

He spends the entire night on the cold tiles of his bathroom floor, violently throwing up everything inside his stomach and then some. The few dreams he has in between, when his body and mind are too tired to stay awake, are filled with an isolated house, a dead family, and a dark alley with a faceless man, bleeding from a wound inside his chest while rain pours down on him. Siegfried’s hands are covered in blood.

The vomiting isn’t the worst, neither are the hot tears that are streaming down his face, or even the pictures in his head that will haunt him for the rest of his life. It’s the feeling of overwhelming sadness and wrongness that breaks something inside of him.

* * *

He never misses again.

(Whenever he holds a gun, he hears the screams and cries of the family, sees dead children on the floor.)

* * *

Siegfried stops telling Thomas about his dreams. Which also means that they stop using the chair to help his memories along. By now, Siegfried knows which answers Thomas wants to hear, and lying gets easier.

* * *

After his first mission, the boy kind of hopes they won’t send him on another one for a few weeks, maybe even months. He can barely look at Schneider – every time he does, a hot kind of fury comes over him, the want to punch the older man becoming almost untamable.

But it’s the opposite. Barely a week after his first mission, Thomas tells him that he’s due to leave on another one in under an hour. “If you fall off the horse, you have to get back up,” Thomas tells him with a reassuring smile and a rub on his back.

“Can’t I be a scientist like you?” Siegfried asks, perfectly aware that he’s whining. Thomas isn’t a fan of whining, but he would rather face his scorn than Schneider’s.

“I mean, I would love to have you in work in my lab all day with me, but you’re such a good agent. Better than most of the others by far.” Despite that compliment, Siegfried feels worse and worse by the second. He doesn’t want to be better if it means killing children. “You’re far more valuable to HYDRA as an agent than a scientist.”

And that’s the end of the discussion. Because if it’s better for HYDRA, Siegfried has to do it.

When he joins the other agents and Schneider, the man gives him a single order. “Obey.”

Siegfried obeys.

* * *

More and more missions follow. There are some where he just has to steal something – things or people – and he likes those a lot better than the ones where he has to kill someone. Schneider is always part of the missions, keeping a careful eye on him. There is another agent who is always there, Wolkow (the one who asked all the questions on the first mission), who Siegfried would describe as the second in command. His accent is different, but just as thick as Schneider’s, and he doesn’t talk a lot to Siegfried besides giving him orders. Never once does he call him anything other than Spider, and when they meet in a hallway in their current hideout, he acts as if the boy isn’t there. Siegfried isn’t too bothered by it. Actually, he prefers to have as little contact with anything that reminds him of his first missions.

He lost count of the number of missions he’s been on when something goes wrong. Now, it’s not the first time that something goes wrong, it happens often enough. And most of the time, it gets ignored. Whenever an agent dies, they only stop to collect whatever could point their identity to HYDRA, because the mission and the safety of HYDRA is always the priority. The only exception is Siegfried. There were a few times where Schneider or Wolkow came back to collect him, to help him get out of a sticky situation, or kill someone who was about to shoot him.

(Siegfried can never decide if he should be grateful or disappointed.)

This mission is a simple one. They break into a lab and Thomas, who is for once part of a mission, hacks the system, getting all the information he needs for his research that is never talked about. Even Siegfried doesn’t know what it is. Getting in the lab and getting the information as well as escaping goes without a hitch. Ironically, it’s the easiest part that goes wrong.

The lab had been on the top of a mountain, secluded from the rest of the world for their secret research – which also meant reinforcements came way too late. At the last part on their way back to their plane, they have to cross a lake, and to make it easier, Wolkow shoots a cable across it, creating an impromptu zipline. Wolkow goes first, followed by Thomas, and then a few other agents. It always works without a problem. Siegfried snaps his carabiner onto the line, feeling Schneider’s eyes stare into the back of his head, and he jumps off. Rushing down the zipline feels a bit like flying through the air with his webs, and he’s never been more grateful for the mask that now covers his wide grin.

Suddenly, not too far from the shore, his carabiner jams. Siegfried is too fast. The force of the movement breaks the carabiner, and he falls straight into the lake. He hits the water hard, going under in an instant, and is disoriented for a second. Before he can clear his head, a completely unfamiliar panic takes over. He can’t move his legs, like someone tied them together, pulling him deeper and deeper every second. He tries to swim back to the surface – well, at least he thinks he does, but his thoughts aren’t clear. He can’t see, water is running through his mask into his mouth and nostrils, and he’s absolutely, deeply, completely terrified.

He’s going to die.

( _This time_ , he is going to die. Siegfried doesn’t know where that thought came from.)

Then, something pulls him upwards and he breaks through the surface. His mask gets ripped off his face, and Siegfried gulps the air down greedily, coughing up water at the same time. He barely remembers arriving at the shore, but suddenly he lays on the ground, coughing and throwing up water, shivering to the bone despite the relatively warm weather. Someone hits him on the back, a bit too strong, but he’s too busy getting all the water out of his lungs to really care. Some else is shouting. Schneider, Siegfried realizes, and he assumes he’s the one that’s at the receiving end of his anger – but it’s not him.

As Siegfried looks up between two coughs, he sees a drenched Schneider screaming at Thomas. Actually screaming, face bright red and oh so angry. Never before has he seen the man so angry. Schneider is always the exemplar for control and discipline, always in control of the tiniest muscle in his body, always on alert to react fast, always keeping his emotions away from his job. And now, he is furiously screaming, showing all his rage and anger. Thomas obviously tries to get a word in between, but he doesn’t stand a chance. Schneider screams in German, and Siegfried simply can’t focus on translating right now.

(There are words like _insufficient research, jeopardizing the project_ , and _being not thoroughly enough_. Siegfried can’t make sense of them.)

When air finally flows back into his lungs, he stops dry heaving. Still shaking like a leaf, he sits back on the balls of his feet, Wolkow – who had been the one to hitting his back – joining the other inside the plane after making sure he’s not going to choke anymore. Just as Siegfried is about to get up as well, Schneider steps in front of him. He still looks furious and the wet look isn’t helping. For a second, he just stares at him, and Siegfried expects to get his share of yelling – but it doesn’t come. Instead, he asks in a tight voice: “Were you scared or can you not swim?”

Siegfried doesn’t understand that question. Maybe there isn’t enough oxygen in his brain yet. “Could-Could you specify, Sir?”

“When you fell into the water, were you scared or can you not swim?”

“I-“ He stops, pushing the confusion about the question away to actually think about the question. What has happened when he fell? He felt like he was going to die. His body refused to do what he asked of it. But could he swim? “I’m not sure, Sir.”

Siegfried expects some kind of reprimand for the answer, something that makes it clear that he messed up. But it doesn’t come. Schneider just gives him another long look before hauling him onto his feet roughly. “This will not happen again. I will teach you.”

“You are not mad at me?” The question leaves his lips before he can think twice about it.

Even more surprising is Schneider’s somewhat mild reaction to the question. A quick shake of his head and a hard: “It is not you who made the mistake.” Then he disappears inside the plane, knowing Siegfried will follow.

On their way back, Thomas sits next to him, wrapping a warm blanket around his shoulders and giving him his usual gentle smile. There is a tightness around his eyes that Siegfried notices – not for the first time. “Are you okay?” The boy nods, too exhausted to speak. “Why didn’t you tell me that you can’t swim?”

(Shouldn’t Thomas know if he can swim? Wasn’t he close to his parents? Doesn’t he know everything about his training? Doesn’t he know everything about his _life_?)

Siegfried shrugs, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Schneider gets him back into the water only a few days later. It turns out that Siegfried does know how to swim, but is for some reason absolutely terrified of drowning, always thinking that something is tied around his legs and pulling him down. Schneider shows him how to use a knife and cut himself free under water. Siegfried practices that move and practices and practices, and continues to practice until he finally is in control of his fear. Schneider is always there whenever he is in the pool, keeping a watchful eye on him, jumping inside to pull him out four times in total. Siegfried always keeps the knife Schneider gave him on him.

Somehow, this leads to Schneider teaching him a lot of things. Things nobody else has bothered ever questioning if he can or can’t do them and a lot more. He teaches him to drive a car (properly, because it turns out he’s very bad at driving) as well as a motorcycle and a BMX bike on mountainous grounds (also showing him how to fly a helicopter once). They fly to snowy mountains and stay there for a week. During their stay, Siegfried learns to ski and snowboard, how to drive a snow crawler, and how to fight in the snow and use it for his advantage. Siegfried also finds out that his body is not good at heating up in cold weather.

Shortly after that, they fly to an island, and Siegfried promptly learns that his body doesn’t handle the heat well, too. Schneider teaches him how to drive a boat and a jet-ski, and how to scuba dive and get out of a strong current. Wolkow joins them, assisting Schneider, though Siegfried has no idea why. He doesn’t do anything despite keeping an eye on them and on the horizon, almost like he’s expecting something to happen.

However, the only thing that does happen is that Wolkow suggests a kind of balancing training, which Schneider agrees to, although a bit reluctant. Wolkow ties a floating tire to a speed boat and orders Siegfried to hold on to it tight before blasting off. That exercise totally takes him by surprise because it’s _fun_. And both men ignore the laughs that he simply can’t keep in when he flies especially high into the air. He never falls off the tire, but that maybe has to do with his stickiness. It’s an isolated case when it comes to the training methods, but Siegfried still treasures the memory.

Back in the hideout after their trip to the island (Siegfried thinks of it as a vacation), Schneider continues to teach him. He teaches him how to pick a lock, how to build and also how to disable a bomb, how to disassemble a gun during a fight, where vital body parts and important organs are, how to make a fire, how to survive in the wild, how to navigate himself only with the stars or the sun, and so much more. Apparently, that’s what every agent at HYDRA learns early on. Siegfried kind of wants to ask if he had been taught all of this before, but he’s not sure he’s already allowed to ask the man questions like that.

Schneider’s method of teaching is still the same as always. Hard, blunt, and unrelenting. But now, Siegfried feels different whenever the man explains something to him. He can’t say why, but it feels a bit… warmer. Still cold and uncaring, but a little less so. Slowly, the tingling in his neck whenever he is around Schneider gets weaker.

(It never disappears entirely, though.)

* * *

Siegfried can’t stop looking at her. They’re on a mission in Mexico, about to break into the hotel room from someone they need information from (again, they didn’t give him a lot of details), and now they sit disguised in a café on a busy square, waiting for the signal to start their plan.

However, Siegfried is having trouble concentrating on said plan. At the café on the other side of the plaza sits a girl and despite his best efforts, he just can’t stop looking at her. He doesn’t know why. The girl doesn’t look friendly, her eyebrows furrowed together in a deep frown as she reads her worn book. Her brown, frizzly hair is tied together in her neck, except for a few strands that fall into her eyes. Everything about her posture screams _don’t talk to me_. 

Siegfried continues to stare as subtly as he can.

* * *

There are times Siegfried can’t stand to be around Thomas. Whenever that happens, a burning, nauseating feeling spreads from his stomach throughout his entire body, strengthening his flight instinct. Even looking at the man feels so wrong and out of place, that Siegfried has to leave. He can’t say what triggers that emotion, because it mostly happens when Thomas and he work in the lab, joking around, or when he throws an arm around his shoulder, smiling down at him. Mostly, all those gestures always fill him with familiar love, but sometimes it’s just the opposite.

Usually, he flees into the gym, actually calming down in Schneider’s presence, and powering himself out until he’s too tired to think about his weird feelings.

* * *

“Led Zeppelin?” Siegfried asks without thinking during a mission.

Wolkow stops, actually listening to the music that blares from the bar across the street, and shakes his head. “AC/DC.”

* * *

His dreams change again. It’s been over a year since Siegfried stopped using the chair and until now, they always stayed true to his memories.

Now, they’re changing back again. Thomas’ face begins to morph, getting unclear. His old trainer seems to change from a man to a woman and back again every other second. The appearance of the other woman and the boy don’t change, but there is something about them that makes him doubt his memories.

It drives him mad. He wakes up exhausted and with an aching heart, feeling like crying which he quickly suppresses because HYDRA agents don’t cry.

In the end, it’s too much for him, and he asks Thomas about the chair again.

(Deep down, it feels like a defeat.)

* * *

Siegfried sits down on the chair, his fingers flying over the keyboard, working as fast as he can to hack into the computer. It’s another mission where they have to steal information for Thomas’ research, but this time the scientist isn’t with them. He explained to Siegfried in detail what he has to do and what kind of information he needs. As he’s working, he realizes it’s the first time he gets a glimpse of Thomas’ secret research (and access to a computer without any supervision). Which is about experimental gene modification, like giving a person animal-like abilities. Siegfried wonders why anyone would want abilities like the ones he was born with or why HYDRA is researching something they try to fight, but he still obeys. It’s not his place to question this.

The lab he is in is filled with computers and rows of tall metal lockers. The scientists are gone – most likely killed by the other agents, but Siegfried stopped thinking too much about those things a long time ago. It just makes obeying more difficult.

He is halfway through downloading the information onto the hard drive when he hears it. Gun shots. A lot of them. There shouldn’t be any, they took down all the guards when they arrived. Which means someone else came. Everything in his body screams at him to move, but he doesn’t. His primary order is to get the information. Thomas and Schneider have been very clear that all the fighting is the job of the other agents. So, he stays and continues to work on the computer.

Then, there is another sound. It’s weird, something Siegfried has never heard before, but it reminds him of turbines or jet engines or something else for flying. Coming right this way. Suddenly glad that he chose one of the computers in the corner of the room, he jumps up onto the ceiling, hiding in the darkest corner.

Not a second too early. As soon as his hands and feet touch the ceiling, the door is thrown open, and someone steps into the room. Well, some _thing_. Oddly fascinated, Siegfried watches the robot. At least he thinks it’s one, looking like a red and gold armor made of some shiny metal with glowing eyes and some kind of blueish triangle in the middle. Despite knowing that this robot means bad news, he can’t stop watching it, moving like a human. Maybe there actually is a human inside that armor, because he can hear soft, non-mechanical noises coming from in there.

Suddenly, the armor stops, going still for a second – and then he shoots directly at him. At the last second, Siegfried manages to dodge the attack, using the metal lockers to hide behind, catching his breath for a second. The tingle in his neck he became more than used to listening to only appeared right before that blast would’ve hit him. That never happened before. _Never_. It always warns him of the danger before his opponent can even make a move.

It’s almost like the tingle didn’t think the armor was a threat to him until he was actually attacking him.

His ears pick up the sound of something recharging and he moves. Behind him, the blast hits the locker, burning a hole through it. Siegfried can’t catch a break, because whoever – or whatever – that is, they are not stopping. Wherever his feet touch, a dangerous blast follows quickly, one time missing him just by the skin of his teeth, actually ripping the mask from his face.

While jumping through the room and thinking about a way to fight back – he’s not sure if his electric webs will work on that thing – he glances at the computer screen. The download is almost done. Maybe Siegfried doesn’t have to fight. Maybe it’s enough if he just stalls long enough to grab the hard drive and run.

His neck tingles and he jumps, feeling the compression wave of the explosion he just escaped. Siegfried flies through the air, landing with a somersault, coming face to face with the armor and debating whether trying his luck with his knives or guns is worth it. 

But something else happens.

The armor freezes, hand still raised and that shooting-thing in the palm glowing. But they don’t move. Siegfried stares at the emotionless faceplate, trying to figure out if this is some kind of red herring, but then he hears an unexpectedly human voice whisper: “What the fuck?”

The helmet of the armor disappears into thin air, revealing that there is indeed someone inside it. A man with dark brown hair, dark eyes full of emotion, and a neatly trimmed beard. He looks a lot like Thomas, but older, with a few more wrinkles around the eyes and his mouth, and a slightly different curved nose.

(He thinks of floating blue screens inside a lab, of booming laughter and smiles, of happiness and safety and love that almost bursts out of his chest.)

The man stares at him like he can’t believe his eyes. “Peter?” he whispers.


	2. Three And A Half Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Tony slumps down into one of the seats, buries his face into his hands, taking deep breaths, and allows himself to remember the last three and a half years for the first time in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Thank you so, so much for all your nice comments and your support! <3 I was really nervous about the first chapter because of the lack of obvious Irondad and the word Peter was in there exactly once, but I'm glad you all enjoyed it. 
> 
> This chapter is my favourite chapter of the story, so, please, if you enjoyed this chapter and have a second to spare, leave me a comment with your thoughts. I would really appreaciate it! <3
> 
> Grab your tissues and enjoy! :)

Siegfried stands still, watching every emotion in the man’s face very carefully. And there are a lot of them: wonder, disbelief, and something that makes the man’s eyes water. The arm drops and Siegfried hears the shooting-thingy turn off.

That’s very surprising. A part of Siegfried knows that he probably won’t get a better opportunity to attack, but something stops him. That look, that behavior… it stirs something inside him, something he has no name for. Instead of taking the chance, he waits, intrigued to see how this turns out.

“Peter?” the man asks again, this time louder and with more intent. He is clearly talking to him. “Peter, is that… is that you?”

Maybe he was part of an undercover mission? Has Peter been his alias?

The man is waiting for his answer, but Siegfried isn’t really sure what he should say. The man takes a staggering step forward, and instinctively, Siegfried falls into a defensive stance, ready to jump and attack at any second. The man notices, stopping at once. Suddenly, his eyes are full of hurt. “Buddy, please… Peter? Just-… answer me?”

Siegfried can’t remember if any adult has ever asked him to do something instead of ordering him to tell them. “Sorry,” he says and sees a flash of something cross that man’s face, “I’m not that… Peter-guy you’re looking for.”

“Peter,” he breathes, seemingly not having heard a word Siegfried said. After all, he just said he’s not whoever this Peter is.

Suddenly, he hears more footsteps – three pairs, two heavy ones and one that’s a lot lighter. Siegfried curses at himself. Schneider always told him to not get distracted on his missions, to keep his focus and finish it as fast as possible. Now, he’s clearly going to pay for it, because Robot Man (Siegfried decides it’s a fitting nickname for him and kind of catchy) looks completely unbothered as three persons storm through the door. One man with a metal arm, carrying a big gun, another man with a blue and red shield, and a redheaded woman in a black suit. They all stop dead in their tracks when they see him, lowering all their defenses except for Metal Arm Guy.

(Siegfried doesn’t notice the absence of the tingle in his neck again either.)

“Is that-,” Shield Guy asks.

“Peter?” That is the woman, her head spinning around to look at Robot Man, whose eyes are still fixed on him.

Siegfried knows he needs to get out of here. Which seems to be quite difficult, seeing that they are blocking the only exit. Something tells him that winning a fight against these four will be much more difficult than fighting four HYDRA agents. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the download is complete. Which means it’s time for him to go. The only question is how he’s going to do that.

“I already told you,” Siegfried says again, moving as subtly as he can closer to the computer, “I’m not whoever you’re looking for.”

Metal Arm Guy fixes his gun on him, the only one who seemingly broke out of his stupor. “It’s not Peter,” he says to his… teammates? Colleagues? Friends?

“What are you talking about?” Robot Man asks, surprisingly angry. “Do you think I don’t recognize him?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Siegfried uses their bantering to his advantage. He shifts his weight a bit.

“Boys,” the woman says, eyes on him again.

This time, Siegfried doesn’t hesitate. He shoots one web to the hard drive, yanking it towards him and pocketing it as soon as it flies into his hand. With his other hand, he latches a web to Robot Man, hitting the blue light in the middle of his chest. Before he can think too much about the look of utter surprise on the man’s face, he sends multiple shock waves through the web. He doesn’t know if the electricity even damages the suit, but it at least works as a distraction.

Metal Arm Guy starts shooting, but Siegfried can dodge the bullets, drawing his own gun to shoot at Shield Guy, who, unsurprisingly, uses his shield to block them. The woman jumps at him, but he is already moving, running towards the exit and shooting a web at her, hitting her midriff and sticking her to one of the metal lockers, her arms immobile. Dodging more bullets, Siegfried slides across the floor, right in between through Shield Guy and Robot Man. Robot Man isn’t moving, but Siegfried can’t say if it’s because the electricity actually did damage the suit or if the man is still caught in his stupor. Shield Guy, however, does move. Siegfried sees the shield moving, feels the tingle inside his neck turn into a vibration, and rolls on his knees before he could think about it.

He sees the shield, hears a screamed “NO!” (Robot Man), and leans back, the edge of the shield missing him by less than an inch. Out of the corner of his eyes, Metal Arm Guy reloads his gun, causing Siegfried to make a flip backwards, shooting at Shield Guy again. One of Metal Arm Guy’s bullets comes dangerously close to hitting Siegfried, though, grazing his cheek. “BARNES!”, Robot Man screams, still motionless and Siegfried begins to think that maybe his webs did damage the suit, “STOP!”

When he lands, he’s behind the threshold, already firing webs to two lockers. As he yanks them towards him, there is one weird thought flashing through his mind: _Stay with them_. But the lockers are already moving, stopping right in front of the door, and blocking the exit. Telling himself that he isn’t stalling, that he isn’t entertaining that ridiculous thought even for a second, Siegfried takes a deep breath before slamming the door shut, firing a web at the lock for good measure, turning around, and running down the hallway as fast as he can.

He can hear their screams.

“ROGERS! Fucking control your boyfriend!”

“Tony-“

“I swear if you tell me to calm down, I won’t need my suit to kick your ass!”

“Before you all kill each other, can one of you cut me out of these? Please?”

“We need to get those lockers out of the way.”

“Yeah, no shit!”

Siegfried finds the exit, jumping into the fresh snow. The cold, biting air hits him like a wall, but it does clear his mind a bit. He needs to get back to HYDRA. Maybe there are still some of the other agents alive somewhere. Just as he starts looking around for a car or anything that can get him as far from this place as possible before they break through all the obstacles, he hears a helicopter above him. One quick glance and he recognizes it as one of HYDRA’s. Leaving all the weird feelings on the ground by the lab, Siegfried shoots a web at the helicopter and flies through the air.

As he climbs up and reaches the cabin, Wolkow pulls him inside. “Check for a tracker!” he yells at him over the loud noise of the rotor blades. Even though Siegfried sincerely doubts that one of them managed to bug him, he searches himself for a tracker – and finds one. Right beside his left elbow, hidden in a little fold, is a small, black device, barely larger than his fingernail. Siegfried squishes it to dust between his fingers, wondering when and who managed to put it on him. The helicopter makes a sharp turn, taking them back to HYDRA. Back home.

(Siegfried ignores the knot that forms in his chest at that thought.)

* * *

It’s probably a good thing Tony’s suit isn’t working right now or he would’ve blown the entire building up in a fit of pure, uncontainable rage. Pure, uncontainable rage that is completely justified in Tony’s opinion.

Because they found Peter.

And then they lost him.

They fucking lost him.

_Again_.

“You have to breathe, Tony,” Nat says, stepping next to him and rubbing the shoulder of his aching left arm. The two super soldiers are standing a couple of feet away from them, clearly not as brave as the spy.

Needless to say, Tony can’t breathe. He turns around, fury written all over his face. “How can I breathe when all of this just happened?! When he found your tracker after barely leaving here, giving us not the slightest clue where he is?!”

“But he is alive.”

Yes. He’s alive. Peter is alive.

And he doesn’t remember who any of them are. Who _he_ is.

Vomit climbs up his esophagus, his knees beginning to buckle. Nat is still at his side, her hand wandering from his shoulder to his arm, keeping him upright. “C’mon. Let’s get back to the jet and back home.”

“No,” he says, drawing strength from the burning feeling inside his chest. “No, we can’t leave. They can’t be that far, we can still find them.”

“There are no tracks anywhere,” Steve says, walking over to them, Barnes hot on his heels, “which means they most likely flew away.”

“So, we search the sky, no problem. I’m Iron Man, I can fly.” Steve gives his fried suit a very pointed look, probably trying to come up with a nice way of saying that that’s not going to happen. Tony has been more than a bit surprised when Peter’s webs suddenly emitted shockwaves, actually managing to damage the nanobots of his suit enough to render him temporarily useless. He doesn’t know how that happened, seeing that Thor hit him with lighting before and actually powered his suit, but maybe it had to do with the fact that Peter hit the housing cell of the tiny bots. Tony needs to run a scan as soon as he can. “We still have the jet.”

“We don’t know where they flew off to,” Barnes throws in, his eyes searching the sky for any clue. “If we look in the wrong place, we’re just wasting time.”

“We can’t just leave him!” Tony chokes on his own words, and if the situation were any different, he would have been embarrassed. But he doesn’t care. This is about Peter. About getting him back.

“We’re not leaving him,” Nat reassures him, her voice soft and firm at the same time, “but we need a plan. So, let’s fly home, clear our heads, lick our wounds, and think of a plan that’s absolutely fool-proof. Okay?”

Tony wants to protest. He wants to stay and search the entire damned country, every single square inch until they find Peter. However, Natasha is right. They’ve been looking for the boy for such a long time without finding a single clue to his whereabouts, without knowing if he was even alive, which means that whoever took him clearly knows how to erase their tracks. Then there is the memory thing. If they just barge into wherever it is he is with a bad plan, it might backfire.

It feels like a complete and utter defeat when he follows the other into the jet. Nobody tries to talk to him again, which he is more than grateful for. He’s really not in the mood to talk. So, he slumps down into one of the seats, buries his face into his hands, taking deep breaths, and allows himself to remember the last three and a half years for the first time in months.

* * *

“Now I would like to introduce you to the head of the foundation: Pepper Potts.” The crowd of young students goes nuts, still high on the serotonin from finding out that all of their projects were just financed, as Pepper joins him on the stage. Clapping in his hands, Tony moves to the side of the stage, giving front and center to her. Like the absolute professional she is, she starts her speech about the foundation smoothly, and while Tony appears to be listening attentively, his thoughts stray off immediately.

Things between them are… not that good right now. And that’s putting it mildly. After Sokovia, all their smaller bickerings about Iron Man and everything that is connected to him turned into small arguments which turned into medium arguments until they finally evolved into big arguments that couldn’t be resolved by a simple _I’m sorry_ anymore. Iron Man is a part of Tony and he can’t and doesn’t want to stop and Pepper understands at least part of that, but she’s worried about all the tolls the superhero life takes. Including the very real possibility of his death. Usually, they’re both excellent at finding the root of a problem and a way to fix it, but this seemed to be the exception. Instead of finding a solution, they fiercely defended their point, not willing to give the other one even a fraction of an inch.

Then, a little over two months ago, it blew up. Tony came back from a mission in the early hours of the morning, bruised and tired to the bone, finding Pepper in the living room anxiously waiting for him, her eyes red and looking like she hadn’t slept since before he left. There had been screaming, but he can’t remember who started it. At some point, Pepper started throwing clothes into her bag, saying she couldn’t do this right now, and left. Tony, being an idiot with a way too big and fragile ego, let her go.

Later, after he spent days in his workshop fixing his suit, it hit him that for the first time in years Pepper wasn’t with him. By choice. And then he remembered that even though he is Iron Man, she had been by his side through all of it. Stane, the Expo, Killian and Extremis – all of that left scars. And God knows she has enough to do with being CEO and taking care of him to really take care of herself and deal with the traumas.

So, Tony gave her the space she demanded, trying to think how to fix this mess, and continuing their lives. They didn’t talk, except for very few, very short work-related emails which were all penned by their respective assistants. Tony went to all his meetings and appointments without her reminding him. He closed that deal with that one Brazilian company. He whipped up new blueprints for the latest StarkPhone. He got that present for the Frank from accounting for his 25-year anniversary at SI. He wrote his speech for this exact presentation.

The world continued to spin and despite what everyone around him thought (including himself), Tony could actually function without Pepper. He was just absolutely miserable. He couldn’t remember a time he felt like this, and that thought alone almost made him reach for a very expensive bottle of Scotch, either to drink it or smash it against the nearest wall. Maybe he didn’t need her in his life, but he wanted her to be part of it, to fall asleep and wake up next to her every morning for the rest of his life. He wanted it _so_ _badly_. She was a crucial part of his happiness. 

The audience gives another round of applause and Tony quickly joins them with his best media-smile on his lips. But then, his eyes travel down her body until they rest on her flat stomach.

Three days ago, in the middle of the night, she let herself in into the penthouse in Manhattan – she has been in Malibu for the past few weeks. Tony came racing to her, thinking something might have happened, ready to suit up and take revenge on whoever dared to cross Pepper Potts. And something did happen, but nothing he’d ever anticipated. With her usual business-like attitude, she pulled something out of her bag and gave it to him. A pregnancy test. A positive pregnancy test.

While the proclaimed genius stared at the little plastic stick like it was the most complicated equation he’d ever seen, she told him in a voice that told him she made up her mind that she’s going to keep the baby. She’s not asking for money or forcing him to be part of their lives, knowing that he doesn’t want children, but she also told him that she will not lie to the child about their father. For a long while, Tony hadn’t said anything and when Pepper moved to leave, he told her to stay and take the bed. He slept on the couch in the living room.

He still sleeps on the couch, not because Pepper told him to, but because he doesn’t know what to do. He wants a life with Pepper, but he’s not sure he wants to be a father. In fact, he is absolutely terrified of the idea. After all, he never wanted to be one, knowing he would be a complete failure at it, and no matter how drunk or high he’d been, he always made sure to use a condom to avoid having to make a decision like this one. However, this isn’t just any random woman – this is Pepper. But being a father? He has a feeling deep inside his stomach that that’s a recipe for disaster. It’s the hardest decision he has to make in his entire life, and he’s not even a little bit closer to making a decision.

Pepper finishes her speech, getting a standing ovation, and Tony joins her at the stage center. Both of them wave their goodbyes at the students while walking off the stage, Tony’s hand hovering over the small of Pepper’s back, but not quite touching her. The second they’re shielded from all the students, the faculty members start swarming them, asking if the funding can also be used by them and how generous the offer is and there is this idea about a hot dog or something. Pepper and Tony exchange a quick look, and when Pepper asks for the bathroom, Tony doesn’t hesitate even a second to offer to show her the way, and they escape through a door to an empty hallway. Well, empty except for one woman.

* * *

“The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we’ve done that.”

“Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now? If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes, you can bet there’d be consequences. Compromise, reassurance – that’s how the world works. Believe me, this –“ There is an all too familiar sound of clacking stiletto heels that cuts through Ross’ speech. “Miss Potts?”

“Mr. Secretary,” Pepper greets him with a professional smile and a firm handshake. Tony doesn’t know how she found out about the meeting, but he keeps his mouth shut, trying not to let his eyes wander to her stomach again. The other Avengers share a quick, confused look, but they don’t say anything. They know better than to interfere with whatever plan Pepper has.

Ross tries very hard to school his face, but it’s not working. He shouldn’t feel bad about it – Pepper has that effect on most. “I don’t mean to be rude, but this is a private meeting.”

“Of course, but seeing that Stark Industries manufactures and provides all the equipment for the Avengers, as well as their legal assistance, I would argue that my presence here is not inappropriate.”

Ross obviously doesn’t like it, but he can’t argue with her, knowing she does have a point. Instead, he straightens his back and points to the Sokovia Accords. “The UN already approved them.”

“And I’m sure they are perfectly fine.” Pepper smiles that smile that she always has when she makes her finishing move. “However, our lawyers will have a look at them, just to be on the safe side. After all, one could indicate that you might have an ulterior motive by presenting a law like this to a group of people untrained in the handling of laws, demanding a decision in a very short amount of time without the proper assistance. And none of us want that, right?”

If Ross has been angry before, it’s nothing compared to now. Tony can see the fire behind his eyes, but the Secretary of State keeps silent. Eventually, he turns to leave, but not before pointing to the stack of papers on the table again. “Vienna. In three days. Talk it over.”

“And if we come to a decision you don’t like?” Natasha calls after him.

Ross stops for a second, looking all of them over before saying in a cold voice: “Then you retire.”

The second they’re gone, Pepper gives Tony a look that he’s very well acquainted with, and he follows her into a back room, while his teammates already start discussing what just happened. As soon as Tony closes the door behind them, Pepper turns around, her face hard. “Have you signed them?”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t sign them until I’m finished with them.”

“Pepper-“

“Just-“ She stops, one hand raised in the air and taking a deep breath to collect herself. The ocean of guilt sitting in Tony’s stomach grows even more. He shouldn’t put a pregnant woman through this much stress. But before he can open his mouth, Pepper is already back on track. “I know that woman got to you, I know Sokovia and everything really got to you, but don’t just sign that thing. You’re not that stupid.”

“We need restrictions, Pepper. I _will_ sign the Accords. We can’t go on like this.” He hears the screams of the people, feels the pain of knowing that they’re hurting them even though they’re just trying to save them.

Something must show on his face, because the tense muscles in Pepper’s face soften. “I’m not telling you to never sign them, I’m telling you to wait until we made sure they don’t try to force some rules onto you that will hurt you. Any of you. If you give someone a stack of paper that thick and that important and demand that they make a decision in three days, you know that it means trouble.” She takes a step towards him and reaches for his hand, holding it tight between hers. He always wonders how such delicate hands can be so strong, holding all of his crumbling pieces together. “Let me make sure they’re not hurting you. Please.”

Tony makes the mistake of looking into her eyes. All his resolve crumbles a lot faster than he likes. “Okay,” he eventually whispers. “Thanks, Pep.”

“Of course.” For a moment that could a second or an eternity, they just stand there. Then, Pepper asks: “Are you okay?”

Honestly, Tony doesn’t know if he is. Probably not. But that doesn’t matter right now. “Are you?” he asks instead, eyes dropping to her stomach without him meaning to.

Pepper sighs and shakes her head. “Don’t think about that, Tony. It’s not important right now.”

“It _is_ important-“

“But this is more time sensitive.” She’s right. Of course, she is, she’s Pepper. Absentmindedly, he runs his thumb over the back of her hand, wondering if there ever will be a time where he’s allowed to catch his breath. But the universe doesn’t work that way. “Let’s get back to work, okay? I’ll talk to legal, you’ll talk to your team.”

In the desperate effort to ease the tension building up inside his entire body, Tony’s lips quirk upwards. “Miss Potts, are you actually taking the easy task right now? You’re slacking off.”

The corners into her mouth pull into a quick smile. “They’re your teammates, they’ll listen to you.”

Tony can’t help but snort. “Have you met them?”

* * *

“I have an equation.”

“Oh, this will clear it up.”

“In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.”

“Are you saying it’s our fault?”

“I’m saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict… breeds catastrophe. Oversight… Oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

“Boom.”

* * *

“Maybe Tony is right. If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still stir.”

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss our ass a few years ago?”

“I’m just… I’m reading the terrain. We have made some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.”

“Focus up. I’m sorry, did I just mishear you or did you agree with me?”

“Oh, I wanna take it back now.”

“No, no, no, you can’t retract it.”

* * *

“Is Pepper here? I didn’t see her.”

“No, she is in New York.” Tony tries to ignore the stab in his chest. He’d been too afraid to ask her to come, too afraid of what it could mean. She wanted to go with Natasha to Vienna to show her (and Stark Industries’) support, but Tony is incredibly grateful that the spy talked her out of it. He doesn’t want to think about what could’ve happened if she had been in that room when the bomb went off.

Steve pulls this face that always makes him look like a kicked puppy. “You guys okay?”

“We’re… kinda… well, not kinda-“

“Pregnant?”

Tony takes a deep breath. “Yeah.” At once, Steve’s face morphs into one of joy, but Tony isn’t finished. “Also, we’re taking a break. It’s nobody’s fault.”

And there’s the puppy look again. “I’m so sorry Tony.”

For a second, Tony thinks about telling Steve everything; about dumping his thoughts and insecurities on him because he feels them choking him, and who knows? Maybe Captain America can actually help. That’s what he does, right? But there are more important things than his personal life right now.

“Yeah, well, we’ll figure it out. After this.” To make his point clear, he pushes the pens towards Steve, who stiffens at once. “The Accords will come, Steve. There’s no way around it. Not if you want to continue helping people, and I know you want to. So, sign them.”

Steve looks at him, before picking up a pen, starting to walk around the room deep in thought. The urge to tinker with something, to busy his hands wells up in Tony’s chest, but he pushes it down by shoving his hands inside his pockets. Steve opens his mouth, but no words come out, just a deep sigh. So, Tony has to push. “We can make the last twenty-four hours legit, and we can still make more amendments, making sure they’re not using them to push their own agendas. I’ll file a motion to have Wanda reinstated –“

“Wanda? What about Wanda?”

“She’s fine, she’s confined at the compound currently. Vision is keeping her company.”

Obviously, Steve doesn’t like that. He sighs, shaking his head. “Oh, God, Tony- Every time. Every time I think you see things the right way-“

“Some hundred acres with a lap pool, it’s got a screening room. There’re worse ways to protect people.”

“Protection? Is that how you see this? This is protection? It’s internment, Tony.”

“She’s not a US citizen, and they don’t grant visas to weapons of mass destruction.”

“She’s a kid!”

“Give me a break!” Tony screams, unable to contain it. His outburst stuns Steve into silence, and Tony grabs the chance before it can run through his fingers. “I’m doing what has to be done. There’s no business, no organization, no _anything_ that works without any laws or guidelines, and there’s a reason for that. It doesn’t matter if they have good intentions or not, there have to be rules. Maybe back in your day it was enough to promise to have good intentions, but the world changed. Too often, people demanded trust, got trust, and misused it. Why should we operate any different than any other organization? And if we have the law on our side, it can protect us, too. Wanda…” Tony sighs. Telling Vision to keep an eye on her and not letting her leave the compound isn’t something Tony really likes, having experienced house arrest himself, but it is necessary. “I’m not trying to lock her up to scare her or whatever you might think, but the compound is the safest place for her right now. The public knows about Lagos, knows it was her, and half of the media calls for her head. They would lynch her the second she steps outside. As long as she’s in the compound, on our land, we can protect her.”

Tony sees that Steve calms somewhat down, hopefully by seeing the reason behind Tony’s actions. But the mechanic also knows better than to think that the stubborn Captain would give up without a fight. “But what if they don’t send us where we need to be?”

“Worst case scenario? It happens exactly once. One time, they make the wrong call and don’t send us or send us too late. People get hurt. People die. And after that, they will want to make sure that something like that never happens again, and it won’t. Because the Avengers _will_ be there. But if we don’t sign the Accords? No Avengers anymore. At all.”

There are a thousand more things Tony could say, they’re all lying on the tip of his tongue, but he holds them in. Steve is not someone who can be overrun with a never-ending stream of arguments, you need to give him time to think about them, and hope that they align with his inner moral compass. Eventually, the super soldier sits down, but Tony has no clue if his words moved anything inside the man or not. He still fidgets with the pen between his fingers.

“Bucky?” he asks in an almost fragile voice.

Tony forces himself to not move a single muscle. He has known for years how important the old childhood friend is to Steve, but the past twenty-four hours made him think that there’s a lot more to them than what’s written in all the museums. But this isn’t the right time to ask questions like that. “We can get him to a psych ward instead of a high facility prison. Make a case that he was brainwashed, get him evaluated, all that. Of course, there still has to be some kind of sentence for the crimes the Winter Soldier committed, but it won’t be as harsh. We can get him help, Steve.”

Finally, Steve looks at him, and his face is so full of emotion, that Tony has a hard time not looking away. However, something changes. Steve pulls his eyebrows together, eyes dropping to the pen between his fingers, weirdly fixated on them. Just when Tony decides to ask him what’s going through his head, Steve speaks up: “Tony, there is something I have to tell you.”

“Okay,” he nods, bracing himself for hearing that Steve will never ever agree to the Accords and will rather live as a fugitive on the other side of the world and grow a ragged beard as a disguise, “shoot away.”

“I… got some kind of notebook about what the Winter Soldier did while he was working for HYDRA.”

“That’s… actually not bad,” Tony says, surprised by Steve’s words. Because it is indeed something useful. “We can use it to make sure nobody is trying to pin something onto him. Last thing we need is people saying he was the one who shot Kennedy or whatever.”

That isn’t the thing that’s bothering him, apparently, because the pained expression doesn’t vanish from his face. No, quite the opposite. The Captain looks even more troubled. “It’s not about that. It’s-… There’s this one mission.”

A very bad, ominous feeling starts spreading throughout Tony’s entire body. His eyes flicker to the pen between Steve’s fingers. “What mission?” His mouth moved without Tony wanting it to.

Steve gives him another painful look and Tony just _knows_. “December 16th, 1991.”

For a second, Tony’s brain just… stops functioning. He can’t process what he just heard. His thoughts can’t be right. Steve can’t be saying what he thinks he’s trying to say. Because that would mean… it would mean that…

“It was a car accident.” His voice is hoarse, barely understandable.

The Captain’s eyes are back on the pen. The pen that belongs to a set Tony found in his father’s things. Suddenly, he’s overcome with the urge to snatch it away, keeping it as far away from Steve as possible. “It wasn’t.”

Blood is rushing through Tony’s ears. He can’t hear anything, he can’t focus his eyes on anything, he can’t even think straight. Steve is saying something, probably apologizing because that’s the type of person he is, but it doesn’t matter right now. Apologies aren’t going to bring his parents back. Apologies aren’t erasing the fact that Steve – who condemned Tony for keeping secrets – knew about this for who knows how long and _now_ he’s telling him? When they’re discussing how Barnes should be prosecuted? If this entire thing with the Accords and the bomb didn’t happen, would he have even told him about it?

Suddenly, Tony can’t stay in the room anymore. He can’t stay in Rogers’ presence anymore. Not right now, not when there are so many other things to focus on. So, he stands up, looking at his teammate – his friend – one last time (asking himself what has to be written across his face for Rogers to give him a look like _that_ ) and just leaves.

* * *

“We’re seriously understaffed.”

“Oh, yeah. It would be great if we had a Hulk, right about now. Any shot?”

“You really think he’d be on our side? I have an idea.”

“Me, too. Where’s yours?”

“Downstairs. Where’s yours?”

Tony smirks.

* * *

“Oh, Mr. Parker.”

“Uhm, what? What, what are you doing-… hey, I’m-I’m-I’m Peter.”

“Tony.”

* * *

They destroy a German airport in their efforts to keep Rogers and Barnes from leaving. Romanoff lets them get to the jet. Rhodey falls out of the sky.

Too late, Tony finds out about the fake psychiatrist.

* * *

There are a lot of things Tony would rather do than creeping through a deserted bunker in Siberia with the murderer of his parents and his teammate who lied to him about said murder to keep a crazy person from awakening more brainwashed killing machines.

Turns out, that’s not what is happening.

“If it’s any comfort, they died in their sleep,” a bodyless voice with a thick accent says through speakers as they walk into the room with the pods. The pods that are filled with corpses. There are bullet holes in the pods. It’s not difficult to connect the dots. “Did you really think I wanted more of you?”

“What the hell?” Barnes whispers, keeping his gun raised.

“I’m grateful to them, though. They brought you here.” Suddenly, a light goes on, revealing Zemo not too far from them. At once, Tony raises his arm and Rogers throws his shield, but it bounces off. “Please, Captain. The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 rockets.”

“I’m betting I could beat that,” Tony yells, as they all move closer to the chamber.

“Oh, I’m sure you could, Mr. Stark,” Zemo agrees in an almost polite, but chilly voice. “Given time. But then you’d never know why you came.”

“You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here?” Rogers asks, his voice full of anger, going up right to the chamber Zemo is hiding in.

Zemo huffs out a dry laugh. “I’ve thought about nothing else for over a year. I studied you. I followed you. But now that you’re standing here, I just realized… There’s a bit of green in the blue of your eyes.” He laughs again. “How nice to find a flaw.”

“You’re Sokovian. Is that what this is about?”

“Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell. No. I’m here because I made a promise.”

“You lost someone?”

“I lost everyone. And so will you.” Suddenly, a screen flickers to life. Something is written on it in Cyrillic letters, but there are also numbers. 16 and 1991. Tony knows what this is before the screen cuts to the security footage of a road. “An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That’s dead. Forever.”

Everything inside Tony tells him to turn around, to not watch the screen – but he can’t look away. So, he watches the car crash. Watches the motorcycle stop. Watches how his father is beaten to death. How his mother is choked to death. Watches Barnes looking straight into the camera before shooting it, erasing the slightest bit of doubt who was responsible for killing his parents.

A hot feeling wells up inside his chest, threatening to take over, to rage until it would finally cool down again. Even though he knew what was coming, had prepared himself for it – it still hurts. It hurts so _fucking_ much. Behind his eyes, the last seconds of his parents’ lives keep repeating. In his ears, he hears his mother’s wails. For a second, that burning feeling wins and he abruptly turns to Barnes, who raises his gun in defense.

“No, Tony!” Rogers grabs his arm, turning him away from the other soldier. “It wasn’t Bucky, you know that. I told you.” Tony can’t talk. He can’t think. He wants to hurt someone because he is hurting so much inside. Because he just saw his parents being murdered. “Bucky, go.”

“But-“

“Go!” A bit reluctant, Barnes leaves, maybe trying to find a way to get to Zemo. Tony thought breathing would get easier with Barnes away from him, but it doesn’t. “Tony, can you hear me? I know it hurts, but you have to pull yourself together for now.” He wants to scream at the soldier. How dare he tell him something like that when he just watched his parents _being murdered_?! “Bucky was brainwashed, you know that. HYDRA was behind it, not him. They are at fault.”

“I-“ Tony tries to speak, but he doesn’t know what he even wants to say. To be honest, he doesn’t even want to speak. He wants to find a way to channel all his anger and hurt before they can eat him up from the inside out.

His repulsors charge up.

Tony can break the chamber open. Zemo was wrong – Tony didn’t need time. Just the right motivation.

* * *

When he enters the penthouse, Pepper is still awake. The kitchen table she’s sitting at is covered in legal papers, most likely the amendments for the Accords. But the second she sees him, she jumps from the stool and rushes over to him, placing a warm, delicate hand on his cheek. Tony can’t help but lean into the touch, desperate for the warmth of it. “Tony? Are you okay?”

No, he really isn’t. They caught Zemo easily enough. Suddenly, the Wakandan king was there, offering to take Barnes with him to Wakanda, promising that he can help him. Tony was more than okay with him being on a different continent for an unforeseeable time, even though Rogers looked like he wanted to protest. He didn’t though, just gave Barnes a long hug as a goodbye. They dropped Zemo off with Agent Ross at the Joint Counter Terrorist Center. Rogers tried to talk to him, but Tony didn’t listen. He needed to get away, if only for a few hours before dealing with getting his teammates from the Raft.

Pepper, of course, senses that something is wrong and also that Tony doesn’t want to talk about it, so she doesn’t push. She always knows when to make him talk and when to let him forget for a moment. She pulls him into a hug, his head resting on her shoulder, and holding him as close as possible, running her delicate hand through his hair. God, he loves this woman. “I’m in,” he says, releasing the words that have always been on the back of the mind despite the chaos of the last couple of days. Or maybe it’s because of the chaos that the decision is suddenly so easy to make.

She stiffens and leans back, eventually. She doesn’t ask what he’s talking about, she’s too smart for that. For a moment, her eyes fly over his face, searching for the answers to her unspoken questions. “Don’t do it because you think you have to,” she says in a voice that’s part stern and part hurtful. “I don’t want this child growing up feeling like they are an obligation.”

“That’s not why I’m doing it.”

“Then why?”

“Because-“ _Because I want something good in my life. Because I want to leave something behind when I die_. Somehow, those words don’t come across his lips. “Because I love you. And I want a life with you. _Both_ of you. Yes, I had my doubts about being a father, still have them, will always have them. But I want to give this a chance. And… I want it to work. I can’t promise that it’ll be a smooth ride, because, let’s face it, I’m a mess. I don’t know anything about parenting. Or the right behavior around kids. And there will be so, so many times you probably want to take my head off for doing something stupid. But, Pep, I promise I’ll try to do my best. So, _please_ , let me be part of it.”

Pepper’s eyes start to water, and for a terrifying second, Tony thinks he said the wrong thing. Then, a small smile crawls onto her face. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

“Yeah?” he asks, barely believing this is really happening. “Really?”

“Really.” She pecks him on the lips. “I’m so happy, Tony. Because I want you to be a part of it.” She gives him another peck. “I love you, too.” Tony lets himself be held by Pepper, lets her treat his wounds, and loses himself in the idea of their life together. It’s not enough to drive away everything else that haunts him, but it’s at least a distraction.

* * *

One and a half months. That’s how long it takes Tony to straighten out everything that had happened during the Accords debate. People called him a workaholic before, but that had been nothing compared to these few weeks. Tony has never worked this much and this hard outside the lab.

Getting everyone off the Raft was his priority, as well as getting them a quick pardon. The Stark Relief Foundation basically built a new airport in Leipzig, the Accords were amended to be accepted by both the UN and the Avengers (Pepper did the most important work for this, which Tony was unbelievable grateful for, and the rest of the team bought her – surprisingly tasteful, considering that Vision chose them – flowers. _A lot_ of flowers. They had to get more flower vases.), they got a visa for Wanda which was, of course, tied to a few conditions, but nothing unmanageable. Team Cap had to give a public apology, and the press didn’t even chew them out too much which was probably thanks to Steve’s fantastic kicked puppy expression.

Now, he falls right onto the bed, not caring about wrinkling his suit, not even taking his shoes off or loosening his tie. All he does is wiggle closer to Pepper until he can lay his head on her lap. She gives a soft chuckle, running her hand through his hair. “I’m never working again. Ever,” Tony complains, eyes already closed.

He expected a sassy remark, maybe something about him not being dramatic or that he doesn’t even know what real work is, but it doesn’t come. Instead, she says: “Maybe you really should take some time off. A little break.”

That gets his attention. With a lot more effort than he likes, he turns onto his back, staring up to his girlfriend. “What?”

“You had a couple of very stressful weeks. Not to mention what happened in Siberia.” Tony hasn’t told Pepper everything, only bits and pieces, but she is smart. She doesn’t need him to tell her everything to understand what happened. “Taking a break will be good for you.”

Tony is too tired to fight this. And a break does actually sound wonderful. “Well, where do you want us to go?”

“Not us. Just you.”

“Just me?” If he actually has the strength to sit up, he would’ve, but his bones feel like they’re made out of lead, pinning him to the bed.

“Yes, just you. You need time to focus on yourself, Tony, before it just builds up and explodes.”

“I can focus on myself when you’re with me. You called me self-centered and egoistical often enough, remember?”

“And yet, we both know that you will always take care of the people around you instead of yourself, if you have the chance.”

Tony pulls a grimace, not liking a bit that Pepper knows him so well. “But I can’t leave you alone. What kind of boyfriend would leave their pregnant girlfriend alone to take a vacation?”

Pepper rolls her eyes, pulling his hair just enough to let him know he should stop joking around. “I’m pregnant, not invalid. Besides, FRIDAY and Happy are here. And an entire team of superheroes that will do everything I ask of them.” That is true – but it doesn’t mean that Tony likes the idea any more. Probably reading his mind, Pepper leans down and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. “I’m not saying you should be gone for months. Just for a bit. I would rather have you deal with everything now than when I’m in labor and you’re taking off.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Tony says at once. While the thought of being a father is still scary and a bit unreal to him, he has come a bit more to terms with it. He may or may not have been googling Iron Man onesies for babies.

“I know. But humor me, okay? If you don’t want to do it for yourself, do it for me. To give myself a little peace of mind.”

As if he could ever say no to Pepper when she asks something from him. “Alright. But I reserve myself the right to fly back the second I think I need to be here.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”

That’s how Tony finds himself on his private plane on the way to India the next morning. He’s already bored, not knowing how he should pass the next two weeks. Pepper made it more than clear that he’s not allowed to work during his vacation. No work for the Avengers or SI or anything else. What is he supposed to do? Read a book? Or twenty? What do people do on vacation? His were always filled with a lot of booze and skimpily clad women, but that’s out of the question.

In his search to find anything to do, he pulls out his phone, browsing through a few apps. He stops when he comes across Happy’s messages. Because he has been so caught up in the entire Accords fiasco, he had dumped looking after the Parker kid on Happy. Who is not happy about it. The boy talks a lot, Tony knows that. Happy knows that now, too. Thanks to daily, tremendously long patrol reports. Out of spite, Happy passed them all along on to Tony.

Without thinking about it twice, Tony scrolls up to the first report and presses play.

* * *

“Look, forget the flying vulture guy. Please.”

“Why?”

“Because why? Because I said so! Sorry. Teenager.”

* * *

“You don’t understand. This is all I have. I’m nothing without the suit.”

“If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it, okay? God, I sound like my dad.”

* * *

“Honey, I’m home,” Tony calls out as he steps out of the elevator. “I brought you a lot of Indian tea, the lady that sold it told me it’s good for pregnancies. Or maybe she just wanted to sell me more tea. Which, y’know, worked really well. I brought enough to last for the next three years.” He takes off his shoes, hangs his jacket on a hook, and throws the red and blue high-tech suit on the armchair in the living room, ignoring the miserable feeling that’s eating him up from the inside. His latest failure.

“Hey,” Pepper greets up, coming down the hallway, “everything okay?”

“Besides that we have to buy an entire closet for all the tea I bought? Peachy. Fantastic. I might even say everything is stellar.”

Pepper doesn’t buy it. Of course, she doesn’t. She’s probably seen the news already. “What happened at the ferry?”

“A mistake,” he confesses, dropping a kiss on her forehead, “but it’s fine. I dealt with it. Nobody got hurt badly. Case closed.”

“How’s the boy?” Pepper doesn’t know Spider-Man’s identity, but she does know that Tony’s interest in him has increased during his vacation.

“Fine. We dropped him off.” Tony sniffs once. “Took his suit. This entire mentor-thing wasn’t working out anyway, so it’s probably better this way.” She continues to stare at him, and he deflects. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about baby names. Made a list. Well, a couple of lists. One for girls, one for boys, then some that fit boys and girls, and then-“

“Tony-“

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” he says, harsher than he intends to. Pepper isn’t fazed by it. “I thought I could do this… mentor-thing or whatever, but it clearly didn’t work out. Should’ve known it from the start. I mean, look at me, Pep. Me? A good role model? Someone who teaches young minds what is right and wrong, how to handle stuff? Please. I don’t even know why I gave it a try. And I failed, so, end of story.”

Tony can’t say why it hurt so much. If he’s honest, he’s barely talked to the boy, known him for two months tops, spent maybe two hours with him in person. Why does it bother him so much? Why does it feel like he let someone down?

Pepper squeezes his hand, bringing him back from his thoughts. Tony sniffs once more. “It was a smart move that I didn’t introduce him to the team, though. They would be heartbroken to know Spider-Man didn’t make the cut. Especially Nat. You know how quickly she gets attached to things. She would probably not talk to me for weeks, planning her revenge.”

“Yeah, we all know how quickly she gets attached,” Pepper deadpans, humoring his scenario. “Good thing you never get attached, right?”

“Exactly. Totally not bothered by it.”

Pepper hums, accepting the lie for now. She takes him by his hand and leads him to the couch. “Tell me about the baby names.”

“I had this absolutely flash of genius. Imagine this: we’re getting twins. And of course, they have to have iconic names. What do we choose? Easy. Salt and Pepper.” She gives him the most unimpressed look she ever gave him. “Y’know? Because your nickname is Pepper? And salt and pepper is a thing? Like the spices?”

“We’re not naming our kid after food.”

“Fine, what about-“

“We’re also not naming our kid Iron Man Junior. Or anything even remotely close to it. Also, not after cars. Or anything that spells out acronyms.”

“Well, there goes half of my list.”

* * *

“So, after meeting the team and the press conference, Happy will show you to your new room, your new quarters. Where’s he between? He is next to Vision?”

“Yeah, Vision isn’t big on doors.”

“It’s fun.”

“Or walls.”

“You’ll fit right in.”

Peter turns around to face him, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. But I’m-I’m good.”

For a second, no thought forms in Tony’s mind, too busy trying to figure out what exactly the boy just said. He can make no sense of it. Because it doesn’t make sense. Peter wants to be an Avenger. Tony offers to make him an Avenger. And now he’s saying… no? “You’re good? How are you good?”

“Well, I-… I mean, I’m-… I’ll rather just stay on the ground, for a little while. Friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man.” He shrugs and huffs out a laugh. “Somebody gotta look out for the little guy, right?”

Tony takes off his glasses. “You’re turning me down? You better think about this. Look at that. Look at me. Last chance: yes or no?”

“No,” Peter answers without any hesitation.

“Okay,” Tony says, a bit (well, a lot more than a bit) bewildered but hell-bent on not showing it. “That’s got a kinda Springsteen-y, working-class hero vibe to it. Uh, Happy will take you home. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Happy answers, coming over to them. “Go wait in the car? I need a minute.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter says sincerely, holding out his hand for him to grab.

“Yes, Mr. Parker.” Tony grabs his hand. He ignores the feeling of being rejected and the feeling of sudden pride for the boy to make such a decision fighting inside his chest. “Very well.”

“See you around.” Peter turns around, skipping of the little platform, leaving Tony alone to figure out what the hell he is feeling right now – before stopping and turning around again. “That was a test, right? There is, uh, nobody back there? No press, no other Avengers?”

Tony panics and does what he always does when he panics – improvise. “Yes, you passed. Alright, skip out of here, young buck.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. Thank you!”

“Yeah, thank you!”

Peter turns around again – but freezes in an instant. A second later, the door to Tony’s left opens and there’s a single thought on his mind. _Oh, shit_. “Tony, we’ve been waiting for twenty minutes, where’s Spider-Man?” And because everyone likes following good old Captain America, it isn’t just Steve who walks through the door. No, it’s the entire team, including Vision, who took inspiration from the others and isn’t floating through a wall right now.

Nobody moves. Peter looks like a deer caught in the headlights. The eyes of the Avengers move from the unknown boy to Tony and to the new Spider-Man suit that’s still on display. Tony desperately tries to think of a good explanation, but judging by the look Rhodey shoots him and Nat’s little smirk, they already have their explanation.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Tony is quick to say.

“Tones, you can’t be serious.”

“In my defense, you all just barged in here, okay?”

“Oh my God, it’s the Avengers,” Peter whispers in awe, already forgetting that he was on the way to the car just a second ago.

“Wait,” Sam says, pushing forward until he’s next to Tony, “are you telling me that Spider-Man,” he points to the Iron Spider suit behind him, “is that thirteen-year old kid?”

“You mean the one who kicked your ass was a thirteen-year old kid?” Nat whispers with a smirk.

“Fifteen,” Peter corrects in a voice that’s suddenly an octave higher.

“There you have it! He’s fifteen! Totally different thing.” Tony looks around the room, but, apparently, that’s not a valid argument. “And another fun fact: he’s not joining the team, so it’s all water under the bridge anyway, right?”

“He’s not joining?” Steve asks, looking from Peter to Tony and back.

“No. Unless you changed your mind, kid?”

“Yeah.” His face turns bright red. “I-I-I mean no. No, I haven’t changed my mind. Just… just a friendly, neighborhood spider. Spider-Man.”

“I like him,” Nat says with a smile that means all kinds of trouble, stepping closer to the boy – which only makes him blush more. Under his breath, he whispers _Oh my God, that’s Black Widow_. “And despite him not joining, a little bit of guidance won’t hurt. Who would be better than a fellow spider?”

“Oh no, hands off, Romanoff. If anything, I have dibs on him. I found him first, and we already have some great relationship-development behind us, right, buddy?”

“Uh-“

“Just nod and agree, Underoos.”

Then, the other door behind him opens. This time, only one person joins them – but it’s a lot worse than before. “What’s going on? Everybody is waiting,” Pepper says.

Tony continues to improvise, seeing that neither Peter, Happy or any of the other Avengers make a single noise. “You know what? The kid actually made a really mature choice. Just surprised the heck out of us.” He hears Peter whisper a breathless _Oh my God, that’s Pepper Potts_. Pepper gives Tony a look that says _Did you screw this up?_ “Spider-Man isn’t joining the team.”

“Are you kidding me? Not you,” she says to the boy in a much nicer tone than Tony gets, “it’s most likely the right decision you made, but _someone_ should’ve probably check if you want to join before making me call a press conference.”

“That’s why I said it surprised all of us, honey.”

Pepper is having none of it. “I have a room full of people in there, waiting for some big announcement. What am I gonna tell them?”

“We’ll think of something,” Tony says. There is the obvious choice, of course: the pregnancy. But they agreed to keep that on the down low as long as Pepper found business suits that would hide her stomach, so that’s off the table. “How about, uhm… Hap, you still got that ring?”

“Do I- I, uh…”

“The engagement-“

“Are you kidding?” Happy pats down his pockets, finding it in his back pocket and holding it up for everyone in the room to see. “I’ve been carrying it around since 2008.”

There’s a moment of silence where everyone in the room tries to process what just happened. Tony starts to think that this probably wasn’t his smartest idea. “Okay,” he presses out, trying to save the situation before a hormonal CEO can decapitate him.

“I think I can think of something better than that,” she says in a tone that either means she’s angry and trying not to show it or amused and trying not to show it. He really hopes it’s the second one. Buying the ring and making Happy carry it around had been a rather spontaneous decision, but the question that is linked to it is the complete opposite of spontaneous.

“Well, it would buy us a little time.” To his surprise, Pepper just leans forward, shutting him up with a kiss. Not that he’s objecting. Way better than losing a body part.

“Like you guys need any more time,” Rhodey comments and Tony can hear the smile in his friend’s voice.

Before Tony can even grasp what just happened, Pepper turns around, already walking back to the conference room. “I can’t believe you carried that thing around in your pocket.”

“Can I get the door for you, hon?” Tony hurries after her, only turning around to catch the ring Happy throws his way. The mechanic doesn’t even try to wipe that wide grin from his face, because holy shit, he’s going to marry Pepper. (That totally counts as a proposal and a yes, right? No? If not, he’ll just propose in front of the reporters again.) Rhodey shakes his head, Sam gives him a thumbs up, and Peter whispers another _Oh my God_.

* * *

They’re all lingering around the kitchen of the penthouse (pretending to help prepare their food instead of fooling around) after Pepper has invited everyone for dinner, when May Parker storms out of the elevator. She looks furious. The kind of furious that makes Tony want to hide behind Steve in hopes of her not seeing him.

But as it turns out, her eyes find him immediately and she gets even angrier. “I can’t believe you!” she yells, stalking over to him. A blushing and obviously very embarrassed Peter shuffles out of the elevator behind her, shoulders pulled up to his ears and hoping the rest of the team would by some miracle not notice what is going on. Which is impossible.

Tony tries damage control. “May,” he greets her with his best dazzling smile, arms open as if ready to give her a hug as a greeting. “How-“

“Don’t you dare!” she continues to yell, stopping less than a foot away from him, and ramming her finger into his chest with a surprising amount of strength. “I can’t believe you did this! You lied to me! You took my nephew to Germany to fight in your stupid argument, and told me he has an internship with you!”

“Technically, he has-“

“You made him a suit! You encouraged him to sneak out of his bedroom every night and fight crime!”

“May, he didn’t-“ Peter tries to chime up, but she just raises her hand, clearly not done with screaming.

Tony doesn’t know what to say, because she’s right. He did all of that. He endangered Peter’s life, both by taking him to Germany and not looking after him properly. He also has a feeling that telling May he feels absolutely terrible about it and wants to change won’t make her calm down.

Luckily, he isn’t alone – even though the entire room seems to be unable to cope with the angry woman screaming at Iron Man. “Ma’am,” Steve says in a placatory voice, “I’m sure this is something we can-“

“Oh, don’t you start, Steve from Brooklyn!” She spats the words in his face like they mean something. And, apparently, they do, because Peter’s blush darkens and he looks properly chastised.

May’s fury is way from over, which Tony quickly finds out as she turns back to him. “How can you be so careless? He’s a child! How can you let him do something so dangerous?”

Peter tries to intervene. “He didn’t tell me to go out as Spider-Man. In fact, he-“

“It doesn’t matter if he told you to get into that stupid suit or not! He should’ve stopped you the second he found out you’re a kid! Instead, he made you a suit to fight crime in!” May looks at Peter expectedly and nods to the bag the kid is carrying. “Give it back. Right now.”

“May-“

“Give it back, Peter!”

“But giving the suit back won’t stop me from being Spider-Man!” Peter shouts. May doesn’t answer, and Tony wishes he could see her face right now, but her back is turned to him. The billionaire knows that taking the suit away won’t stop him, he already learned his lesson. That’s why he gave it back in the first place. With the suit – now un-hackable and with more than one hidden tracker and a lot more protocols – Tony can at least help him if Peter is in real danger.

Peter’s eyes shot around the room, perfectly aware that they’re all following their argument with high attention, before they settle on May. “I’m not doing this because of Iron Man or anyone else.” He pauses. “I mean, not entirely. I’m doing this because I can help people. Because… Because with great power comes great responsibility.”

Tony assumes that it’s some kind of quote simply by the way Peter says it – an important quote. He himself has never heard it before and wonders for a second who could’ve said it, but the tension in May’s shoulders disappears. “You sound too much like him,” she eventually mumbles, wiping her hand over her face.

Peter offers her a small, but genuine smile. “And that’s a bad thing?”

May stays quiet for a second, just watching her nephew before pulling him into a tight hug. Peter looks like he would rather not be doing this in a room that is filled with famous superheroes and Pepper Potts, but he accepts her affection nonetheless and puts his arms around her. “Is this some kind of payback because we didn’t get you puppy?” Peter laughs. “Will you stop if I get you two puppies?”

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “But we can still get two puppies.”

“Oh no. I’m not going to reward your behavior.”

“Mrs. Parker,” Pepper eventually interrupts them when the tension in the room dissolves a bit. May lets go of the kid and turns around. Her eyes dart to Tony, who has to make an actual effort to not flinch or hide behind Steve again. However, it looks like Steve would rather hide behind someone else, too. Who knew that Hot Aunt May could be so scary that actually superheroes want to hide from her? “I think we should have a talk and come to an agreement. Would you like to stay for dinner? There’s plenty of food.”

The Parkers stay for dinner. Tony and Steve are both very quiet throughout the entire discussion because May keeps sending them daggers through her eyes. Rhodey gets on May’s good side very fast because the first words out of his mouth are _Tony is an idiot_. Pepper leads the negotiation. Peter is allowed to continue going out as Spider-Man, as well as wearing the suit after explaining that it’s for his own safety. However, there are more rules. School comes first. There have to be days-off on which he doesn’t go patrolling. Whenever he does patrol, one of the Avengers has to be in Queens to help him out if he needs them to. Peter tries to interject, mumbling something about not needing a babysitter, but one look from his aunt shuts him up. Weirdly enough, none of the Avengers objects. Maybe they’re afraid to be the next person May screams at.

Then, Pepper brings up the internship. Even though it has initially been just a cover story, Tony did offer the boy a real position, recognizing his potential. Peter has accepted immediately, completely unable to stop his excited rambling at the prospect of working with him, and Tony would be lying if he claimed he wasn’t looking forward to their first session – but May vetoes the idea. Saying something about him already doing enough stuff, but Tony suspects that it is because she’s still angry at him and just doesn’t want him to spend too much time with Peter. For a second, the genius thinks about objecting, but Pepper’s look tells him not to. Peter looks just as deflated as Tony feels, but he keeps quiet, too.

For the rest of the evening, Tony tries to convince himself that he’s not too bothered by the cancelled internship. Especially when he hears that everyone else (besides Steve) is allowed to teach the boy something. They schedule training sessions with Nat and Rhodey. Sam gets to teach Peter something about first aid. Vision offers that Peter can always call him if he needs help with his homework, seeing as he’s practically a humanoid search engine. Pepper gets May’s phone number for emergencies.

Tony stabs a few peas on his plate and ignores the slight prick in his chest.

* * *

Tony’s thoughts are muddled. He feels numb and sleepy, with blunt senses and eyelids made out of lead. This can only mean one thing: he’s high. Based on the weird non-existing feeling that spreads through his entire body, he guesses the drug of choice is pain killers.

For a second, he just thinks about giving in to the sleepy feeling that tries to pull him under again, but there is this sound that’s oddly persistent, keeping him afloat like a safety buoy in the ocean that is sleep. He tries to ignore it, to just be washed away by the drowsiness, but it doesn’t work. The sound is still there, is still keeping him awake, and pulling him out of the ocean.

It’s a voice.

“-it’s fine, I’m doing it here. Multitasking and all that. What? What do you mean I’m bad at multitasking? I’m great at it! Hey, that’s not fair, that was _one_ time, it doesn’t count.” Tony knows that voice, but he can’t place a face or a name to it. That someone tries to be quiet, but the mechanic is pretty sure that he would hear that voice even if it were barely audible. There is something about it, something that urges even his muddled thoughts to pay attention to it. Like it’s a flame and he’s a moth, drawn to it by nature.

“Yes, I have it. You left it in the middle of the table with a note. And you left a note on the door. And on my backpack. And you sent me, like, a _million_ texts. There’s no way I could’ve forgotten it, May.” Slowly, a shape forms inside his head to accompany the voice, but it’s not quite there yet. The drugs really try to make him go back to sleep.

A heavy sigh. “No, actually, I did ask her. She did it, and it looks great but… I don’t know, May, isn’t it childish? What do you mean why – he’s, like, a gazillionaire!” _Billionaire_ , Tony corrects in his mind. “What if he thinks it’s pathetic? Or just, like, dumb or something? Because only kids give people hand-made cards, I’m basically an adult! Haha, very funny. I bought a back-up one. It’s more mature.”

Somehow, that irks him. Tony can’t say why. He wants the voice to be childish, for some reason.

For a few moments, the voice is just quiet. When the voice is back again, it’s unnervingly worried, which almost prompts Tony to open his eyes. “But… what if he doesn’t get better? What if-… and then it’s my fault?” The urge to open his eyes and tell the voice that they are wrong grows. “I know, I know, but, like –… No. No, I didn’t. He did it himself. But still. Mr. Stark got hurt because of me.”

Peter.

Suddenly, Tony knows exactly who that voice next to his bed belongs to. It’s the push he needs to actively fight back against the drowsiness, scrunching his face up in his efforts to get his eyelids to open.

“May, gotta call you back. Larb you.” The mattress Tony lays on shifts as something pushes down on the left side. “Mr. Stark? Can you hear me? Are you waking up? For real this time? Or just for, like, five seconds again?”

Too many questions. Way too many. He needs to concentrate on getting his eyes open first, then he can deal with the endless stream of questions coming out of Peter’s mouth. Eventually, he does manage to open his eyes, taking in his surroundings with this untypical slowness. He’s in a very fancy hospital room – the kind that gives you enormous beds and spacious room and looks like a hotel, except for the few medical machines in the room.

Slowly, Tony turns his head to look at Peter who is hovering over him, way too close to be polite. “’nd’roos,” he mumbles, and he smiles softly before having a coughing fit. For the first time, he notices how parched his throat is. But Peter is quick to react, getting a cup of water with a straw, holding it close enough so Tony can drink from it. After a few sips, he feels a hundred times better. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Peter doesn’t stop there. “How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Should I call a doctor? Or a nurse? Do you need me to fluff your pillow? Like they always do in movies? Or do you need anything else? Something to eat, maybe? Are you even allowed to eat yet? Or do they have to feed you through a tube or-“

“Just,” Tony interrupts, effectively shutting the teenager up, and regaining the ability to form real words, “help my memory a bit. What happened?”

Peter blinks a couple of times. “You don’t remember?” Tony, still too tired to make a snarky comment, shakes his head. “You, uh… You got stabbed.”

That does help him remember as pictures flash before his eyes. He was out with Pepper for a date night in Queens in a fameless, but cozy little restaurant, hoping to out-smart the paparazzi who’re constantly trying to get new pictures of Pepper’s fast-growing baby-bump. It wasn’t Iron Man’s turn to sit around in the apartment they got in Queens three weeks ago (Tony started looking into real-estate in that neighborhood the second May Parker had left the penthouse), while Spider-Man was patrolling. Tony can’t remember why they specifically chose Queens instead of anywhere else, but the food had been really good.

On their way back to the car, they ran into Spider-Man. He was telling them about his latest catch, a guy who tried to rob a bodega, when the man with the knife approached – well, they didn’t know he had a knife back then, but they found out soon enough. The man charged at them, screaming Spider-Man’s name, full of rage. For whatever reason, the boy hadn’t reacted. Maybe he’d been shocked, maybe he’d thought the man meant a different Spider-Man; whatever it was, Peter didn’t step aside.

So, Tony stepped up. Before he even knew what he was doing, he dashed in front of the boy, shielding him from the attack with his own body. Just when he wanted to activate the watch-glove, a knife was rammed into his side. Once? Twice? More? Tony couldn’t remember. His memory is very fussy about everything that happened after the knife.

Slowly, Tony’s gaze drifts back to Peter who looks very nervous. “You okay?”

Peter blinks a few times. “What? Are you- Do you- Seriously?” Tony nods. A bit unexpected, Peter’s eyes get glossy, almost watery, but he looks down on his knees before Tony can get a good look. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“That’s good.”

“But you got hurt! Because of me.” Finally, Peter raises his head again. “Why did you do it?”

Somehow, Tony manages snorts. “Why? Seriously? Because you would’ve gotten stabbed!”

“And I heal in, like, five minutes, it wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

“It wouldn’t –“ It’s a good thing Tony is already at a hospital. Treating him for the heart attack he gets from dealing with a stubborn teenager is easier this way. “Of course, it would! Doesn’t matter if you heal after five minutes or five seconds or five hours. If I can prevent you from getting hurt, I will do it. No matter what. Got it?”

For a while, Peter just looks at him funny, maybe debating if he should make another point or not – Tony is still too out of it to properly interpret his facial expressions. But, fortunately, the boy doesn’t choose to continue the argument. “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he says earnestly, which makes Tony feel something despite the damming effect of the painkillers. “And just so you know, I would totally get stabbed for you. Like, without any hesitation at all.”

“Oh no. Uh uh. No way. Didn’t you listen to what I literally just said? The point of all of this so you _don’t_ get hurt.”

“But I owe you one.”

“Then owe me by being more careful and not getting hurt.” This time, Peter looks like he wants to say more, but Tony doesn’t let him. “Now, if I overheard your call with your lovely aunt correctly, you have something for me.”

“Oh, right.” Peter rummages in his school bag before pulling out a Tupperware-container, opening the lid to uncover a pile of burned… something. “May made them for you as a kinda thank you gift. Because you liked her walnut-date-loaf.” Tony stares at the baked goods. Again: Thank God he is already in a hospital. But then, Peter puts the container aside and pulls a brown paper bag out of his bag. “And my thank you gift for you is that I’m not gonna make you eat them and still tell May you loved them.” Bless Peter Parker. “I got you these cookies, instead. They’re not fancy or anything, but the lady who bakes them is really nice, and already gave Spider-Man, like, five of them.” Tony thanks him, making a mental note to definitely try them, but the surprises aren’t over yet. “Oh! May has another thank you gift for you. Or, well, maybe us.”

“Well? Out with it.” Tony just prays it’s not more baked goods.

A grin starts spreading on Peter’s face, reaching from one ear to the other one. “She said we can do the internship.” Tony just blinks, trying to wrap his head around it, but the boy interprets it differently. “I-I-I mean, if you still want to. Obviously, you’re super busy and all, so if you don’t have time for it or don’t want to or whatever, we totally don’t have to do it. Like-“

“Kid, I just got stabbed for you. I came up with the internship. Of course, I want to do it.” In his muddled state, the joy on Peter’s face is almost too much to take in. Tony sniffs once, and averts his eyes to the kid’s bag. “Isn’t there some kind of card in there for me?”

Peter is either oblivious to the obvious change of subject or just accepts it, because he simply pulls out a card and hands it to him. (Much later, when Tony’s thoughts aren’t still foggy from the medicine, he wonders why he had no problem accepting something that was handed to him. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe it was Peter.) The card is very simple, _Get Well Soon_ written in an elegant font on the cover, and very much bought from a store. Inside, Peter wrote _Mr. Stark, I hope you feel better soon! Peter_.

Tony stares at it for a moment, before turning back to his freshly appointed intern. “Where’s the other one?”

“The- uh… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that? The hand-made card. The one you think is childish.” Peter flushes, his mouth opening and closing like a fish without any sound coming out of it. “C’mon, give it to me. It’s a gift for me. I love gifts for me. Besides, I got stabbed for you. I deserve it.”

“How long are you gonna use that as a valid argument?” Peter groans, but reaches back inside his schoolbag.

“Indefinitely.” The next card is clearly not store-bought. In the center is a cartoonish Iron Man, a blanket dropped over his shoulders, a band-aid on his helmet, and a thermometer sticking out of his mouth. In the background is a very distressed Peter. It’s not bad. “Did you draw this?”

“Uh- no. No, I’m not that good at drawing. My friend from school did. She likes drawing people in crisis.”

Tony hums and brings the card closer to his eyes. It’s colored slightly over the lines. “Did you color it in?” The deep blush on Peter’s face is all Tony needs as an answer, so he snorts and opens the card. _Dear Mr. Stark, thank you for getting stabbed for me. It was simultaneously awesome and horrifying. Please don’t do it again. ~~Love~~_ (it’s crossed a lot of times, clearly hoping the word would be illegible) _Best regards, Peter._

A warm and fluffy feeling spreads through his body, starting from where his arc reactor used to be. “Thanks, kiddo,” he says through the sudden lump in his throat. “This is gonna get a special place in my office so everyone can see it. Now, fluff my pillow, take a picture of me pretending to eat one of your aunt’s cookies and send it to her. I need to stay on her good side.”

* * *

Peter and Tony are both equally excited about the internship, and after a brief tour of the lab and the proper safety instructions, they immediately start tinkering around.

Half an hour later, something explodes. They choose not to tell anyone about it, and continue with making Peter’s non-explosive web fluid.

* * *

Tony gets attached to the sticky boy. Fast. Way too fast. How can he not? Peter is smart – way too smart for his own good, and certainly for Tony’s – always has an easy laugh on his lips, gets enthusiastic about literally anything, talks three miles a minute, and has still some of the childish innocent in him left that makes Tony’s slowly developing parental side work into overdrive. And of course, his desire to just be good, to do good things and help people. To look out for the little guy.

A part of him wonders if he should try to be less obvious about his affection for the boy – but it’s not like Tony is the only one who gets charmed by him. Peter has everybody – including Happy, in his own way – wrapped around his finger without even trying to. At first, they all try to hide it, but that’s easier said than done. Sam can fool nobody that his teasing is anything but good-natured and brotherly. They all see Nat’s little smiles. Vision always uses Peter’s door at the compound instead of floating through the wall – sometimes, he even knocks. Wanda always puts on Peter’s favorite TV show when he strolls by her room. Clint’s dad jokes are getting worse. Steve helps him with his History and Art homework. Rhodey doesn’t stop retelling his and Tony’s adventures from MIT.

So why should Tony pretend to not like the boy? Why should he hide the smile whenever he gets multiple text from the Spiderling? Or when his excited rants go on and on and on? There is no reason for it. They have all fallen under his spell. Peter is the balm that slowly heals the wounds that were ripped open during the Accords debate.

* * *

Morgan Hope Potts-Stark is born a little over four weeks early. Pepper wakes Tony in the middle of the night, screaming like a banshee, which always means trouble. The entire drive to the hospital – Tony thought about offering to fly her to it with one of his suits, but he was pretty sure she would rip at least one part of his body off, and he’s quite attached to all of them – she continues to scream and swear in a very un-Pepper-like fashion.

It only gets worse in the delivery room. Tony tries to be supportive, telling her to keep breathing – which was apparently the wrong thing to say. She just keeps screaming, saying it’s all his fault, that their daughter clearly takes after him, just as impatient as the genius. Tony stands next to her and lets her crush his hand.

Then, suddenly, there is a cry – a _new_ cry. Tony feels like fainting, but somehow, he manages to keep standing up. From the first second he lays eyes on his daughter, he knows he could never create anything in his workshop or a lab that would be more perfect than this little human-being.

Because Morgan was born pre-maturely – and because Tony is paranoid and pays the hospital _a lot_ of money to make sure everything is fine – the doctors keep them at the hospital for a few days, telling them to keep visitors to a minimum, for the new parents to calm down, and to not expose the frail immune system of the baby to anything dangerous. Rhodey and Happy are the only ones who have already seen her, both tearing up at the sight of their goddaughter. Tony knows Steve is ready to tackle any hospital stuff and fight his way into the room to hold the baby, but the team keeps still, giving them the space they need, and cooing over the pictures Tony sends them.

Staring at his newly born daughter is Tony’s new hobby. He can just sit there and look at the baby, watching her every breath. Almost like he’s afraid she would stop breathing the second he looks away. “ _Boss_ ,” FRIDAY chimes up from his watch, _“you might want to look out of the window to your right.”_

For a second, Tony thinks there is an alien invasion or something – he wouldn’t leave their private room for anything less than that – but does as the AI tells him. He immediately sees what FRIDAY means. It’s hard to miss. Countless webs stretch between the buildings for miles, overlapping and crossing each other to form the shape of a heart with what looks like a teddy bear in the middle of it.

_“My scans suggest that you can only recognize the pattern of the webs from this exact window.”_

Tony can’t help but grin.

* * *

“Can I hold her?”

Tony gives him a skeptical look, holding his daughter closer to his chest. “Are you gonna drop her?”

(Peter shouldn’t take that question seriously. He asks everyone if they would drop Morgan. Even Clint, who didn’t grace him with an answer.)

“Mr. Stark, I’m sticky. Literally. And I have super reflexes. I won’t drop her.”

For a few more seconds, he just watches Peter who is basically vibrating with excitement. Then, he sighs. “Okay. But be careful. Precious cargo and all that.”

Peter nods so fast, Tony fears his head would fall off. Carefully, he places Morgan into Peter’s waiting arms, who seems to be a natural at holding babies. “She’s so small,” he whispers, eyes trained on Morgan and a grin on his face. Tony just nods. Sometimes, he wonders if she is too small, if it means that she’s somehow sick or something, even though every doctor and Helen reassured him that she is as healthy as she can be.

“Hey Morgan. My name is Peter. I’m sure you’ve already heard a lot about me.” She had, in fact. But Peter doesn’t need to know that. “Don’t listen to any of that. It’s not true. I’m a really cool guy. The coolest. And to prove that, I got you a gift.”

Tony almost has a heart attack as Peter shifts the girl in his arms to reach into his backpack with one hand, pulling out said gift. The mechanic can’t recognize it immediately, only when it rests against Morgan’s chest can he make out enough details to figure out what it actually is. It’s a stuffed animal – a red and blue spider, to be exact. The thing is almost as big as Morgan, a red body with blue legs, dark eyes stitched on it and a spider symbol on the back. It isn’t particularly well made, the stitches crooked and the legs not symmetrical.

“Where did you get that?” Tony asks. “You should ask for a refund.”

Peter’s face flushes and his eyes are fixed on Morgan who does nothing but stare back. “Well, she likes it, that’s all that matters. Besides, you can’t ask for a refund for something that you made yourself.”

Tony has to blink once, twice, looking from the boy’s still flushed face to the stuffed animal and back. Somehow, his brain can’t make the connection right away. “You… made it? Yourself?”

“Y-Yeah,” he confirms, weirdly confident even though his entire face and neck are bright red. “I just said that.”

“You could’ve bought one.” Tony doesn’t know if he means it as an insult or a compliment. No, scratch that. The warm feeling inside him makes that decision for him. That or _he_ should be the one seeing a doctor.

“Well, it’s just more special when you get a hand-made gift from your family.”

_Family_. Tony likes that. A lot.

* * *

**The A-Team**

**Iron Man** _just added_ **Spiderling** _to_ **The A-Team**

**Spiderling**

OMG

THERE IS A GROUP CHAT ?!?!?!

WHY DID I JUST FIND OUT ABOUT THIS????

**Iron Man**

You rejected my offer, remember?

I got engaged because of that

**Spiderling**

Okay, fair point

Hey, what does the A stand for?

**Capsicle**

Avengers, of course

**Platypus**

It’s a movie reference, I’m surprised you didn’t catch that

**Iron Man**

It stands for awesome

**Natalie**

Arachnid

Duh

**Legolas**

Affordable

Aging

Take your pick

**Bird**

Based on the dominant personality traits of all of you?

Assholes

* * *

Tony gladly agrees to his parental leave, actually stepping away from his workshop for a few weeks (which is a new record) to focus on Morgan. And taking every chance he gets to catch up on the sleep he’s losing because of the baby. Pepper is home, too, but she slowly starts to spend a couple hours a day in her home-office. After all, a company like SI doesn’t run itself. Iron Man only flies around in case of an alien invasion, which hasn’t happened – yet. He even put off his Spider-babysitting duties and the internship; not forever, of course, just long enough until they can all get used to parenthood.

So, when Tony sits in the rocking chair in Morgan’s room, his daughter in his arms and trying to lull her to sleep, he almost has a heart attack when FRIDAY speaks up. _“Boss, Vision is trying to reach you.”_

It’s Vision’s turn to be on call for Spider-Man. And now he is calling Tony. Immediately, the worst possible scenarios invade his brain, the urge to suit up and fly to Queens almost overwhelmingly strong. “Patch him through.”

“Good evening, Mr. Stark,” Vision greets him in his usual calm voice.

“What’s going on, Vis?”

“Mr. Parker is not in danger, Sir.” Tony can let go of the breath he’s been holding. “However, he is in quite a state of emotional distress. I do not believe that I am the right choice to console him.”

Tony likes to pretend that he thought about his choice, that he thought about keeping his private and his work life separate – but nobody would believe him anyway. And it’s an obvious lie. Peter isn’t his work life, he’s his family. So, really, there’s no decision to make. “Thanks for calling me. I’ll talk to him.” Without telling the AI to do it, she calls Peter. It rings five times before he accepts the call. There are traffic noises and heavy breathing. “Hey, buddy.”

“Mr. Stark.” His voice sounds choked and kind of frail. Like it could break any second.

Tony tries his to be the calming and grounding presence Peter apparently needs right now. Morgan calms down faster when he is calm, so it should work for spider themed super-teenagers, too, right? “Vision called me. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

For a second, the billionaire thinks he’s not getting an answer. To keep himself from actually flying to Peter’s location, he keeps rocking Morgan in his arms. Her eyes are slowly closing. Hearing his voice always makes her fall asleep faster, which Tony tries not to take personal. He says it’s obviously his deep voice that makes her feel comfortable and safe enough to sleep. Pepper says he’s just boring her.

Finally, Peter answers, clearing his throat. “These guys tried robbing this lady. I-I helped her. She could run away, but-“ A deep breath. “One of them had a gun.” For a terrible second, Tony sees Peter lying in an alley, blood streaming out of his body, before he remembers Vision’s words. “I webbed him to the wall, but he already fired and the bullet hit the other one. I-I-I didn’t know what to do. There was so much blood, Mr. Stark.”

Tony can hear a choked sob, and he has to close his eyes as he remembers the police report of Ben Parker’s death.

“I shot a web on the wound to stop the bleeding and brought him to the hospital. He’s still in surgery.”

“Where are you, Peter?”

“On the roof of the building across from it.” A moment of silence. “I can still hear his heartbeat.”

Sometimes, Tony forgets how freakishly enhanced his senses are. “You want to make sure that he survives.”

“I never meant for anyone to get hurt, Mr. Stark.” This time, Peter doesn’t try to hide his sob. The sound breaks Tony’s heart. “I really don’t. My webs don’t hurt anyone.”

“I know, buddy, I know. Him getting hurt isn’t your fault.”

“But-“

“No buts. You didn’t shoot him. Okay? It was an accident. You patched him up and brought him to a place where he can get help. You did everything right.”

“But-“

“Hey, I just said no buts.” Peter doesn’t try to protest again, but Tony can basically feel his doubt. “Peter, sometimes… Sometimes, people get hurt, even if you try everything you can to prevent it. But this is not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for the actions of other people. It won’t make you happy. In fact, it’ll just drive you crazy. So, don’t even start it. Okay?”

He only gets what can be interpreted as a mumbled affirmation. Tony stares at his daughter in his arms, who finally fell asleep, her little face pressed against the crook of his arm, and her plushie spider covering most of her body. “Do you want me to stay on the phone with you until you call it a night?”

Normally, Peter has a strict curfew, especially on school nights, but Tony has the feeling the boy needs to see this through, needs to know that no one died because of him. Tony would gladly face May’s scorn if it means Peter would feel better. So, when he hears Peter’s mumbled _yeah_ , he just readjusts his position in the rocking chair and keeps talking. After all, both his kids like it.

* * *

“Relax, it was no big deal.”

Tony doesn’t relax. In fact, he explodes. “No big deal?! You ran into an explosion! After I specifically told you to stay away from it!”

However, Peter stands his ground. “There were still people inside the building! They could’ve died!”

“ _You_ could’ve died!”

“So what? I should stop helping people because I could get hurt?” It’s clearly a rhetorical question, and Tony doesn’t grace it with an answer. He can’t think straight. His heart is pounding against his chest, and every time he blinks, he sees the silhouette of Spider-Man being engulfed by flames. “I can’t just sit still when people need help!”

“I know,” Tony deadpans, finally stepping out of his suit. He has been at the penthouse when the Avengers got the call about an office building being on fire with people still inside. Because of multiple road works, the fire department had trouble reaching them in time, so every Avenger who was close to it got there, helping clearing out the building. Including Spider-Man, who was on his way back from school. Just when they got seemingly everyone out of there and FRIDAY detected the building pressure of the incoming explosion, Peter ran back inside to get two more people out. They made it, just in time. But it was still one of Tony’s worst nightmares. “And that’s why I’m benching you.”

“What?!” Peter blinks at him, still in his suit, his masked clasps in an angry fist. “You can’t do that.”

“I can. Clearly. Because I just did.”

“But-“

“No helping the Avengers on missions. No patrolling. And no protests.”

“That’s so unfair! You would’ve done exactly the same thing!”

Tony would have. Which is what scares him so much. “We already had this conversation.”

_(“I just wanted to be like you.”_

_“And I wanted you to be better.”)_

But unlike their conversation after the debacle with the ferry, Peter isn’t backing down. The look in his eyes change, and he stands up straight, taking advantage of his full high, which is coming closer and closer to Tony’s. “And who is better than you? Who should I take as an inspiration?”

Then, to Tony’s surprise, Peter just turns around, puts his mask back on, and throws himself out of the open window. There is a part of Tony that wants to continue this conversation, wants to make Peter understand why he doesn’t want him to throw himself into careless danger, but the anger is still too hot to let him make any rational decision. So, Tony just orders FRIDAY to shut the Spider suit down the second Peter sways from his route back home.

* * *

Three weeks. Tony doesn’t see Peter for three weeks. He also doesn’t talk to or hears from him, neither through a text or anything else. True to Tony’s grounding of Spider-Man, the boy doesn’t patrol, which also means that he’s not helping the Avengers out. He’s also not stopping by for the internship or babysitting Morgan, which is something Peter loves to do and he’s surprisingly good at it, too. Tony tells himself that it’s no big deal – after all, the boy has a lot of studying to do with finals around the corner. He’s probably spending all his free time bend over books, trying to absorb as much information as he can.

Still, Tony feels bad. Like, really bad. Yes, he’d been angry at Peter that he’s done something so reckless and dangerous, but maybe he overreacted. Peter hadn’t done it because he wanted to scare Tony or to do something stupid, he did it to save people. Maybe, instead of grounding him and yelling at him, he should’ve tried a different approach, finding a solution how to handle a situation like that together. Not that it matters now, seeing as the boy is clearly avoiding him. Sure, Tony could try to reach out to him and fix this, but he has no idea how to do that. (And maybe there’s a part of him that’s afraid that he damaged their relationship too much for them to fix.)

So, he sits in his workshop at the compound, pretending to get some work done while Steve babysits Morgan, and sulks over the loss of his hyperactive, good-natured intern who talks too much. Then, he gets an email from Peter. Not even pretending to be too busy to take a look at it immediately, he opens it.

_Mr. Stark,_

_could you please proofread my paper about the Bohr model and atomic orbital for me? It’s crucial for my final grade, and Ned is too busy studying himself._

_Peter_

Tony tries to not read too much into the short, almost impersonal email, and opens the attached document instead, grabbing the chance to fix the rift between them eagerly. It’s nine pages long, the cover page stating the subject of the paper as well as Peter’s name. The design is simple, yet a little boring, and Tony makes a note with a few ideas on how to improve it, to add the date, the class, and the name of his teacher. He scrolls down, seeing the body of text, and before even reading the first word, he makes a note to add a table of contents, even if the paper isn’t that long. He’s sure Peter will write a lot more scientific papers in his life, he should get used to structure it in the proper way as fast as possible. Then, he starts reading.

It takes Tony two paragraphs before he realizes that this paper is not about the Bohr model, nor about the atomic orbital. In fact, it’s not about chemistry at all. It’s about him. Eight pages about why Tony Stark is Peter Parker’s hero. There is a part of him that tells Tony to stop reading, but he just can’t. His eyes absorb every single word of it. Surprisingly, the paper doesn’t just focus on his work as Iron Man. No, it’s about his inventions, the arc reactor, the clean energy program, about his decision to shut down the weapons program, about finding solutions to problems instead of arguing if it really was his fault, about all his charity work, about dealing with and overcoming the problems of his past. Tony feels strangely called out, but he can’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing.

After reading the concluding sentence of the paper ( _For all these reasons, Tony Stark is my hero – because he makes the change he wants to see in the world instead of merely talking about it.)_ Tony is quite emotional. Sure, he always knew that Iron Man is Peter’s idol – but the essence of this isn’t that the superhero is Peter’s hero, but the person Tony Stark with all his flaws. Because Peter listed them, too. Somehow, the realization that Peter is perfectly aware of all the ways Tony screwed up in the past and still thinks he’s a good role model is almost too much for the billionaire. Especially considering how their last conversation went.

Before Tony can even fully comprehend what he’s doing, his phone is against his ear and he’s calling Peter. He picks up after the first ring. “Hey, Mr. Stark.”

Suddenly, Tony’s mind is blank. No, wait, that would mean he would’ve had a plan beforehand, which he hadn’t. So, he just starts to ramble. “Your paper has no list of references,” he says, “nor a table of contents. Didn’t they teach you how to do that properly?”

For a second, Peter is silent on the other line. Tony grows uncharacteristically nervous. “But how do I reference personal knowledge and opinions?”

“List wherever you read or heard about the arguments that formed your opinion.” Peter doesn’t add anything to it, so he continues. “Chemistry really changed in the past few years. I could’ve sworn it had something to do with atoms and all that.”

“It’s an essay I had to write at the beginning of the year,” Peter confesses, “about who we admire and think changed the world to a better place.”

Tony is speechless. He doesn’t deserve to be put on a pedestal like that. “Peter-“

“Look, can I just say something?” Tony doesn’t argue, mostly because he still doesn’t know what to say. “I know you don’t see yourself the way I do. I know you don’t think you’re a hero, that you’ve made too many mistakes or whatever. But you try to make the world a better place. You take responsibility for your action. You care about people. And… and I think that’s awesome. That’s what makes a hero. And that’s the kind of person I want to be.”

Tony only notices the tear rolling down his cheek when it drops from his chin onto his hand. Quickly, he wipes the wetness from his face, clearing his throat, and trying to calm his racing heart. He succeeds at two out of three. Peter doesn’t say anything, and Tony imagines him sitting at his desk, bouncing his leg and spinning a pen through his fingers, just like he always does when he’s nervous.

“I’m sorry,” Tony eventually says, letting go of the words that have been haunting him for the past 20 days and 18 hours. “About the way I acted. About screaming at you.”

“It’s alright. I knew what I did wasn’t the smartest thing to do.”

“Yeah, but you saved people. And you were right, I would’ve done exactly the same.” Tony takes a deep breath. Well, this is all or nothing. “Which scared me, and still does. Because my actions lead me to pain, and I don’t want to see you in pain. I don’t want you to get hurt. At all. I know you’re a lot stronger than most of the team, I know you can handle a lot more than I want you to handle, but… I can’t stop worrying. All I want is to protect you, Peter. Seeing you run into an exploding building without thinking about your own wellbeing is literally the stuff my nightmares are made from.”

“Thanks for saying that.”

“I mean it.”

“And I mean what I wrote in that essay.”

There is a moment of silence between them, both of them letting the words the other one said sink in. Other words play over in Tony’s mind, words like _my_ and _kid_ and _family_ and _love_ but he can’t say them right now. He doesn’t want them to be tarnished by the circumstances of this conversation. “So, how are the finals?”

Peter groans, charming a laugh out of Tony. “Terrible. I’m pretty sure I flunked like, all of them.”

“And for you flunking means, what? Getting a B, you nerd?” This time, Peter is the one to laugh. “Y’know, when all that stress is over, you’re more than welcome to stop by the penthouse or the compound. We can celebrate, order some take out, tinker in the lab. Or maybe watch a movie.”

“Of course! I would love that! I haven’t seen Morgan in _forever_ , I bet I wouldn’t even recognize her anymore.”

“So, you only miss Morgan?”

“Well, maybe you, too. A tiny bit.”

There’s a sappy smile on Tony’s face which he will deny for the rest of his life. “According to your essay, I’m pretty sure you missed me more than just a tiny bit. Now, is there actually some studying I can help you with?”

* * *

“Thanks so much, guys!” Peter grins at everyone, the entire Avengers team (including Scott, and Clint with his family), Pepper, Morgan, Happy, and May – the only one missing is Ned, who’s coming later in the afternoon as a surprise.

They’re all at the compound to celebrate Peter’s birthday. Steve made a cake that turned out terrible and then ordered a Star Wars themed one from a bakery in Brooklyn. Vision organized custom-made decorations with all the weird quotes and references Peter loves to use printed on them – given that Vision was basically born out of the internet, he’s the only one who understands _all_ of the references. Tony wanted to get Peter a thousand presents, including a car even though the boy is one of the worst drivers Tony has ever seen, simply because he deserves them, but May limited the number of presents to five, and after a quick remark from Pepper, gave him a price limit, too. It’s like she wanted to prevent Tony from getting the perfect present.

“But, actually,” Peter continues, looking quite bashful, “there’s one more thing I would like to get.”

“Such a smug birthday boy,” Sam teases, shoving another spoonful of cake into his mouth. “You’re surrounded by a mountain of presents and you still want more?”

“What do you want, Pete?” Tony asks, ready to get his credit card and buy whatever he wants – a private plane, a yacht, Legoland, the Star Wars franchise, whatever.

“Well, it’s more like permission to do something.”

“Oh, that sentence never leads to anything good,” Nat comments with a smile.

“It’s nothing dangerous or stupid or whatever! Okay, maybe it’s a bit stupid, but, like, we can totally change it back if you guys don’t like it. I just think it would be funny, and it fits kinda perfect and-“

“Go for it,” Rhodey interrupts him. Spending all these years with Tony taught him a thing or two about rambling geniuses.

Peter grins, pulls out his phone, and two seconds later, they all get a notification.

They don’t change it back.

* * *

**Spiderling** _changed_ **The A-Team** _to_ **Ohana**

* * *

Tony comes back from his routine meeting with the UN to the penthouse in Manhattan to a somewhat unusual sight. Normally whenever Peter babysits Morgan, they’re in the middle of playing, both so into it that Tony always feels quite bad for breaking it up in favor of bedtime. But now, they’re on the couch, Peter on his back, with Morgan on his chest, both asleep. Spidey the plushie spider is pressed to his daughter with a tight grip, Peter has one arm around her, and he had webbed her to his chest to prevent her from falling. There are even more webs between the couch and the table, just in case Morgan does fall from his chest.

With a soft smile, he steps next to them, presses a kiss to Morgan’s head and runs a hand through Peter’s curls. Then he gets the StarkPad to take a look at the footage. It’s not like he thinks Peter is a bad babysitter, quite the opposite. But watching his kids play together always relaxes him. And after spending several hours in a room with Ross and him having to be polite – or as polite as he can be – Tony really needs some relaxation.

In the video, Peter and Morgan are sitting on the floor, surrounded by her army of stuffed animals that are still lying in the living room. “ _You know, Morguna, I think you should totally have real pets, too. Don’t you think? And Dad would buy you all the animals you want_.” (Tony ignores the way his heart skips a beat when Peter calls him Dad.) _“Oh, you know what you should do? Get an animal for every letter in the alphabet. Doesn’t that sound like fun_?” Morgan gives an excited squeal. “ _Yeah, I thought so, too. So, let’s start with A. Easy. Alpaca. Oh, you would_ love _an alpaca, Morgan. Next is B. Now, I know bear is the first one that comes to mind, but what about bees? They help the environment and make honey. What’s more perfect than that? A cat for C. D is obviously dogs. As in multiple ones. At least five. They need a pack. E… oh, how about an elephant_?”

* * *

“You’re unusually quiet,” Tony says, sitting down next to Peter. “Nervous?” They’re in a quinjet with Steve, Sam, Nat, and Clint on the way to blow up a hideout. A splinter group of HYDRA apparently settled down there, so that’s reason enough to blow it up. It’s not the first time that Peter has joined them on a mission like this, but he’s usually filled with an infectious excitement.

Peter’s eyes dart around the jet, aware that the other ones are most likely listening in, even though they pretend to be busy. “N-Not about the mission.”

“About what then?”

A blush spreads across his cheeks, and Tony knows the answer. MJ. His puppy crush is, frankly, adorable, and Tony tries his best to not tease the boy too much about it, knowing how self-conscious and nervous about the entire thing he is. To be honest, Tony would be, too – MJ is a very difficult person to read. “I-I was just thinking, uh, about getting a Christmas present. For MJ. And…” Peter takes a deep breath, his blush darkening, eyes on his knees, and his next words blur into one. “And to ask her if she wants to be my girlfriend.”

By some power granted to him by Thor or one of the god’s godly friends, Tony manages not to grin like a lunatic. Instead, he asks: “You think that is really necessary? Didn’t she already kiss you?”

“Yeah, but what if she did it as, like, a friend?”

For a second, Tony can only stare at the boy, wondering if he’s serious or not. Apparently, he is. How can someone so smart be so dumb at the same time? “Does she usually kiss her friends?”

“No…”

“Then why should she kiss you as a friend?” Peter averts his eyes, shrugs his shoulders, and starts fidgeting. A clear sign that he’s getting doubts about his abilities to woo his crush again. Which is completely ungrounded, because Tony personally saw MJ smile at Peter twice, which is basically the equivalent of a love confession from her. “Tell me about the present.”

“I’m, uh, thinking about getting her a necklace.” Tony nods, approving his choice of gift. “Of a black dahlia. Because of the murder.”

“Right. The murder. Of course. Because she’s into that.”

“Yeah.”

_God, teenagers are weird_. However, it is a thoughtful gift. “You know, they make beautiful jewelry out of glass in Venice. I’m sure someone there has a black dahlia necklace.”

Peter’s eyes light up in excitement, before his shoulders drop in disappointment. “How am I supposed to get to Venice?”

“Oh, I don’t know. If only you knew a billionaire with a private jet.” Tony rolls his eyes, but Peter smiles shyly at him. “But if you’re already in Europe, how about flying her out there, too? We could make a stop in Paris, and you can give her the necklace on top of the Eiffel tower. Pretty sure you can rent the entire tower. Maybe. Well, they’ll do it for me.”

“Stop putting unrealistic and over-the-top ideas into the boy’s head,” Clint says, walking past them and unable to keep the smirk off his face, “and go suit up. We’re almost there.”

“Excuse me? Unrealistic and over-the-top? I resent that! My ideas are brilliant. After all, _I’m_ the one engaged to Pepper Potts.”

“Pretty sure that’s only out of pity,” Natasha speaks up from her seat in the cockpit before turning around to Peter with a smirk. “Did Pepper ever tell you the story about the bunny?”

“I stand by that bunny,” Tony announces, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to them. They’re just jealous.” Peter just snickers.

Blowing up the hideout isn’t difficult. By now, they’re a well-rehearsed team, just like they were before their little argument about the Accords. Tony and Sam are in the air, making sure no one gets away and destroying all satellites. The other ones are inside the building, each one of them taking over a wing. The idea that Peter is on his own makes Tony a bit nervous, but he knows it’s just his extreme caution. Peter improved a lot with all his practice and training sessions, he gets better at following orders, and it’s not the first time that he’s taking over a job on his own. He’s done it before and it always went without a hitch.

It takes them about an hour before the building is turned into a ruin, and they herded everyone inside to be picked up by Hill and other SHIELD agents. Tony and Sam land next to Steve and Nat and the beaten-up HYDRA henchmen. “That’s everyone?”

“Clint makes a final sweep,” Steve answers, just as the archer joins them.

Alone.

A tightness forms in Tony’s stomach. “Where’s Peter?”

Clint blinks in confusion. The tightness grows and makes him nauseous. “He’s not with you?”

The atmosphere shifts at once. Tony is in the air again before he can think twice about it. “Underoos? Can you hear me?” No answer. FRIDAY scans the building for any remaining heat signatures, but there are none. “Peter? Peter, answer me!” Still nothing. “FRIDAY, connect to his suit. Track it. Pull up his vitals.”

For a second that feels like an eternity, the AI is silent. “ _I am sorry, Boss_.” Someone punched all the air out of his lungs. “ _I cannot connect to Mr. Parker’s suit. I cannot access any of the trackers._ ”

Tony refuses to think what that means, refuses to accept that, so they start searching for him. They track every single foot print or skid mark in the deep snow, but they don’t lead anywhere. They turn over every single stone, check every hidden room, every secret door, but they’re all empty. Tony replays the footage of the fight over and over, trying to find any clue as to what happened, trying to find out when exactly they lost the connection to his suit, but there is nothing useful there, just the realization that the last time Tony heard Peter speak (a Star Wars reference) was half an hour into the fight. There was no noise, nothing unusual about his vitals or anything that would indicate that something has happened to him. It was like he vanished into thin air. 

Nat has to talk him through a panic attack when Tony realizes that Peter isn’t here. That he’s somewhere else. That someone took him right from under his nose.

* * *

For two weeks, Tony barely sleeps. He gets access to almost every security camera and video footage of the world – the few times he doesn’t get the official okay, he hacks into them, all to find the tiniest glimpse of Peter. Whenever there’s even the softest whisper that they found someone who even just talked to someone from HYDRA, Tony suits up, flies to wherever that person is and all but tries to beat the answer out of them. Sometimes, he actually beats the answer out of them. But they’re all useless. Nobody can give him anything that brings him closer to finding the kid – his kid.

Tony is perfectly aware that the others worry about him, but nobody dares to say something. They all want Peter back, but they’re not as frantic as Tony about it. Sometimes, when he hits another dead end, he resents them for it, believing they would already be closer to finding Peter if they just cared enough.

Pepper gives him all the space and support he needs. She doesn’t ask him to come home, doesn’t tell him to stop looking. She knows it would be useless, anyway. Instead, she’s the one who breaks the news to May. A part of Tony wants to ask about it, wants to ask about the woman’s reaction to hearing that her nephew has gone missing, but he doesn’t dare to ask. It would only distract him from his mission.

It’s Clint who talks to him. Tony is in his lab in the compound, as usual, eyes glued to the screen, reviewing more and more security footage. “Tony,” the spy says, “you can’t keep doing this.” Tony doesn’t even grace that absurd statement with an answer. “You’re making yourself sick. When was the last time you slept for more than two hours? Or had a proper meal? You have to take care of yourself.”

Somehow, that sets Tony off. How could he even think about taking care of himself when he failed to take care of Peter? “I can do all of that when we’ve got Peter back.”

Clint isn’t faced by his biting tone. “Do you think you’re helping Peter by working yourself to death?”

“And what is it you suggest that I do?” Tony spits, whirling around to face his teammate. “That I stop looking for him? That I just give up? That I just abandon my-“ Tony stops, breathing heavily, the word _son_ lying on his tongue, but unable to actually say it.

But Clint knows the word is there. Which is probably why he’s the one talking to him. “Of course not. Nobody is saying you should stop looking for him. I wouldn’t stop looking for any of my kids if they went missing. But, Tony, we’re doing everything we can. FRIDAY runs facial recognition programs every second of every day. Wakanda is looking for him, too. SHIELD is keeping an eye out. Scott, Hope, and Pym are covering the west coast. We’re running after every single clue there is. There’s nothing more you can do right now. We have to wait.”

Tony wants to protest, because there has to be more. There has to be something they can do to find Peter right this second, he just hasn’t found it yet. He just-

Clint stops his spiraling thoughts by putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not saying to stop. It’s the last thing I would ask from you. But you have another kid and a fiancée who need you, too, Tony. Don’t forget about them. Don’t lose them, too.” Tony doesn’t answer, but the archer isn’t expecting one. All he does is pat his shoulder one more time before leaving Tony and his tears of frustration, anger, and pain alone.

* * *

When May Parker steps into his SI office, Tony notices three things immediately. Her long hair is cut short, the longest strands of her bob barely gracing her chin. The lines in her face are a lot more prominent, cutting deeper into her face, and giving her a stony appearance. Her usually bright wardrobe is dimmed. Not black, because she’s not in mourning (not yet), but the tones are closer to grey than anything else.

“May,” Tony greets her, getting out of his chair to give her a hug, but she just shakes her head and sits down on the other side of her desk. It’s the first time he’s seen her since the mission.

“I’m leaving,” she says without any preamble.

Tony blinks. “Leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Are you- Are you going on a vacation or-“

“No, I’m leaving for good. For now, at least.” It feels like a punch into his guts. Something must’ve shown on his face, because May’s icy appearance melts enough to let him get a glimpse of all the pain she’s trying to hide. “I just-… I can’t stay in this city, Tony. Wherever I go, wherever I look, I see their ghosts. First Mary and Richard, then Ben, and now Peter. And I can’t stand it. I can’t stand knowing that I lost everything and that there is nothing I can do to help. So, I’m leaving. Going somewhere where I can be useful. There are plenty of places where they need nurses.”

“May, I’m getting Peter back, I promise. I’m not stopping looking for him.”

“I know, Tony, I know that. And when you find him, I will come back. But until then…”

Tony can understand her, the desire to get away from everything that reminded her of the things she lost, of all the pain that haunts her every single second of the day. A part of him wants to ask her if he can come with her, away from the pain. Another part of him wants her to stay, but he can’t ask that from her. It’s not his place. Not when he was the one who screwed up and let them take Peter.

“Do you need anything? Money? A sponsor?” Tony asks instead, trying to hide his heartbreak. “I can talk to your landlord about your apartment or maybe-“

May shakes her head again. “I already made all the preparations. All the stuff from the apartment is in a storage unit. I talked to my landlord, and terminated the tenancy agreement. Quit my job. My flight is in four hours.”

There is nothing Tony can say or do. So, he simply hugs her goodbye. “I will find him, I promise. Even if it’s the last thing I do,” he swears when he lets her go. May gives him a thin-lipped smile and a tight nod, tears already in her eyes. “Send a postcard, okay? Morgan would love to get some.” May gives him a last, genuine smile.

They never get a postcard.

* * *

Days turn into weeks which turn into months and, eventually, into years. They don’t stop the search. FRIDAY still scans every piece of footage she can get her digital hands on. They still follow every lead that is somehow connected to HYDRA, and ultimately expanding their thorough search to any group that seems to be interested in enhanced individuals or has a personal agenda against Spider-Man. But they still find nothing. Not a single clue.

Tony, Pepper, and Morgan start spending more and more time at the vacation lake house they bought just a few days before The Mission, splitting their time now between the penthouse in Manhattan, the compound, and the lake house. Clint’s advice not to lose the rest of his family, too, is a constant ring in Tony’s ears. He’s there when Morgan takes her first steps, hears her first words ( _mama_ ), and starts spending more and more time with her. Spidey is her favorite stuffed animal and she carries it wherever she goes, refusing to let it go even in her sleep. Sometimes, it hurts to look at the red and blue spider. Other times, it’s the kind of reminder Tony needs to why he keeps up the seemingly pointless search.

There is an unspoken agreement between the Avengers about Queens. They all keep an eye out for the neighborhood, one of them staying in the apartment there. It’s not like they take over Spider-Man’s job of helping the little guy, but they’re still there, watching, making sure that Queens is still there when Peter returns.

Tony gets Ned into the SI summer program for the coding department which leads to a real internship there. When there’s a high-profile burglary in the Mexican city MJ is in during her vacation, Tony makes sure she is okay. He writes a letter of recommendation for Ned which helps him get into MIT. He also writes one for MJ, but she doesn’t include it in her applications. Tony gives a speech at their graduation – everyone thinks it’s because of Ned and his internship, but it’s not. It’s just one more unfertile attempt to lessen the guilt that is eating away Tony’s intestines.

The guilt doesn’t get easier to deal with, neither does the disappointment whenever FRIDAY’s scans or their missions turn out useless. There are times when he’s almost overwhelmed by the sadness that seeps into his bones and fills him with a cold that no amount of heat can banish. On Peter’s birthdays, Tony barely manages to function at all, locking himself into his lab and refusing to talk to anyone. On those bad days, Pepper is the only one who can coax him into eating something, taking a shower, and sleeping in a bed with all of her love. She’s also the one who holds him during all of his nightmares.

But the world or the universe or whoever is in charge of things like that doesn’t care for Tony’s pain, because the sun keeps rising and setting, because life keeps moving on, and Tony has no choice but to follow.

* * *

Steve spent a lot of time in Wakanda these past few months, so nobody is really surprised when one day Barnes steps out of the quinjet next to him. They’re also not surprised to find out that they would share Steve’s quarters, never actually defining their relationship out loud, but they don’t need to. They’re all perfectly aware of it.

Tony doesn’t join the rest of the team to greet them. He’s still not quite sure what he would do if he sees the murderer of his parents again, so he chooses to stay away. But it turns out, removing himself from the equation doesn’t help. Because only a day later, Barnes finds him in his lab. Alone. For a second, Tony thinks about suiting up and continue the fight Steve stopped all those years ago, but Barnes talks before Tony can make a decision. “I’m here to apologize. And I will leave if you tell me to.”

The mechanic thinks about just telling him to fuck off, but he doesn’t. He’s not sure why. Maybe because he doesn’t need any more resentment in his life. Maybe because he doesn’t need more broken things, because he desperately needs something he can fix. Even if it is the relationship he has to an ex-assassin. So, he beckons him forward.

“I’m sorry,” Barnes says, making himself look as small as possible. Which he’s not really successful at. “For killing your parents.” Tony wants to say something, wants to make some kind of remark, but his mind is unusually blank after his blunt statement. “I realize that this sounds like some excuse, but I never had any control over what the Winter Soldier did. If I had, I would have stopped him. Every time.”

“I know,” Tony eventually says, because no matter how mad he wants to be, he truly does believe that James Barnes would’ve done everything he could to stop the Winter Soldier. It was just too bad they were the same person.

Barnes stands in the middle of the lab awkwardly, his mouth opening and closing again, obviously trying to find anything to talk about. For a second, Tony thinks he would talk about Howard, just like Steve sometimes liked to do because he thought it would connect them. But Barnes doesn’t do that. No, he takes a different approach. “I heard about what happened to the boy. Almost exactly two years ago, right?”

The blood into Tony’s veins turns to ice, and his lungs refuse to function – just like always whenever someone brings up Peter without warning. It feels like a million tiny needles prick his heart.

Barnes realizes that he made a mistake, but he clearly doesn’t know how to fix it. “He seemed like a really brave kid. He caught my metal arm like it was nothing.”

“He’s still brave,” Tony hisses, not liking the way Barnes talks in the past, like Peter isn’t here anymore, like he’s- “Is there anything else you want to say? If not, you can leave, I’m busy.”

“Actually, there is one more thing. There is this mission. Storming the base of a group that does research on enhanced people. Steve, Natasha, and I are going.” Barnes hesitates, though Tony knows the rest of the question. “They-… We would like you to join. To hack into their computer system.”

“Nat can get into their system.”

“She’s not quite sure if she can get past their firewalls without setting off any traps. They seem to be quite tech-savvy.” It sounds like a rational and believable reason – which means it’s probably a lie, coming from Nat. All her lies sound very rational and believable. Besides, it has been a while since Tony actually took part in any missions. Usually, he only steps inside his suit if they have a hunch that they might find out anything about Peter.

Taking one look at FRIDAY’s unsuccessful scans, the negative reports from Wakanda, SHIELD, and Scott, Tony agrees to go on that mission, fully believing it would be uneventful.

* * *

Tony clutches Peter’s mask in his shaking hands. FRIDAY already ran a test once they entered the jet, putting the final nail in the coffin. The DNA samples they found in the mask are a 100% match to Peter’s DNA. The boy, no, the young man they met in that room really was Peter.

Who didn’t recognize them.

“So, is he the new Winter Soldier, then?” Nat asks in a low voice, maybe hoping Tony wouldn’t hear their hushed conversation. Which sounds dumb. If the spy really doesn’t want him to hear any of this, she wouldn’t start that conversation while he is still in the jet.

“No, I don’t think so,” Barnes answers. “The Winter Soldier fights to kill.”

“Bucky is right,” Steve agrees. “Peter fought, but just enough to get out of the room, not to hurt or kill us.”

“He shot at you. Repeatedly.”

“We all know he didn’t aim to kill, just to distract us. If he really wanted to hurt us, he would’ve done it. He had plenty of opportunities for it.”

“But if he’s not the new Winter Soldier, who is he, then?”

They don’t answer the questions. They don’t need to. Because the answer is not Peter. Whoever the person inside that room was, was not the Peter they know and love.

This is like a nightmare. Somehow so much worse than anything Tony could have imagined. To have hope that they could get Peter back, and yet know that there’s also a chance they lost the boy forever.

The second they land, Tony storms off. He knows they will talk strategy the second the rest of the team gets back, but right now, half of the Avengers are on the other side of the world, executing a mission they got from the UN. Neither Steve, Barnes, or Nat try to stop him.

For a second, Tony fears that his feet will lead him to Peter’s old room, the one that has been untouched for two years, but instead of finding himself in a cold, lonely, kind of dusty room, he steps into a room that’s warmed by a fire from the fireplace, hears excited giggles and soft laughs. Morgan and Pepper. Somehow, this cuts his air off. It isn’t just him who mourned the loss of the boy for the last 2 years. Pepper misses him, too. Morgan has clearly been confused about the absence of the person her parents described as her big brother, but she’d been just one year old when he disappeared. Still, she’d clutched Spidey to her chest, crying and wailing for something she couldn’t articulate, not being able to calm down no matter what Tony or Pepper tried.

“Daddy!” Tony breaks out of his stupor at the excited voice and walks over to the couch, where Pepper and Morgan are reading Morgan’s favorite fairytale. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” he says and gives his best version of a smile. Morgan buys it – Pepper doesn’t. He can see it in the way she narrows her eyes at him, catching the edges of the mask Tony had stuffed into the pocket of his pants.

“Did you catch the bad guys?” Morgan asks, abandoning the book in favor of asking about his mission.

“Yeah,” he echoes, mind still trying to wrap around the events of said mission. Then, before he can stop the words, he says: “Met an old friend.”

Pepper sits up straight, knowing that _meeting an old friend_ while on a mission is never something good. Morgan, however, doesn’t know it, and excitement shines in her eyes. “Really? Who?”

Tony tries to say his name. It should be easy. Just one word, two syllables, four different letters. But he can’t. Instead, he brushes over Spidey. Pepper gasps, clasping a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise. “Do you remember who gave you Spidey?”

Morgan hums, eyes fixed on the plushie in her hands, searching her tiny brain for the right answer. “My brother?”

Tony can only nod, tears springing to his eyes. Her brother. His kid.

“Morgan, sweetie, how about you brush your teeth and change into your pajamas and then we read another story?” Pepper asks. Their daughter, ecstatic over the chance to get a second bedtime story, jumps off the couch and races to the bathroom, Spidey still in her hand. The second she’s out of the room, Pepper scoots closer, pulling Tony closer to her, his head against her shoulder.

“It was him, Pep,” he manages to say through his ragged breath, his hands gripping Pepper’s waist in a vainly attempt to ground himself. “It was him. And it wasn’t. He didn’t remember us. Didn’t remember who he is. But-But he’s alive. He’s alive and out there.” Pepper presses kiss after kiss against his temple, a hand running up and down his spine, trying to sooth some of the shock and terror out of his body. “His first words to me were sorry.” That had been such a Peter-thing to do, to immediately apologize. Pepper holds him closer, starting to rock him a little, just the way she always does when she tries to calm down Morgan. “I have to call May.”

“No, wait,” Pepper stops him, leaning back just far enough to look into his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

“I can’t keep that from her, she has to know.”

“Of course, she has to know, but you just said he doesn’t remember who he is. He’s not here with us yet. Don’t give her hope and take it away by not getting him back, Tony. You’re not that cruel.” Tony can’t find the right words. He wants to protest that there’s no way he would fail to get him back, now that he has new hope and new motivation, but they don’t just need his body. They need _Peter_ back.

Tony nods, and Pepper presses a soft kiss to his lips. “You will find our kid. I know you will. We just need a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [lunannex](https://lunannex.tumblr.com/) made an amazing [promo art](https://jen27ny.tumblr.com/post/616489279178342400/irondadbigbang-ohana-by-jen27ny-jen27ny-art) based on this chapter!
> 
> My favourite moment is probably when Peter tricks Tony into reading the essay about himself. What was yours?
> 
> I'm OBSESSED with the idea that the Starks have two kittens called Salt and Pepper or Salt and Virginia because they already have a Pepper. I might write a oneshot about it. 
> 
> When I planned this chapter, I had so many ideas and moments I wanted to put in here, but than I reached the point where May screamed at Tony and I realized that I couldn't put everything in there I wanted without making it this absolutely massive chapter that is so much longer than the rest. I managed to change a few ideas and reference a couple of scene throughout the rest of the story, but here are some ideas/scenes that didn't make the cut:   
> \- a few scenes building the relationship between Tony and Peter, as well as one between May screaming at Tony and Tony waking up in the hospital, showing how much they already miss each other  
> \- Peter is there when Pepper goes into labor. Tony and Peter are both in the lab when FRIDAY alerts them. They try and fail to not panic while Pepper crushes their hands. Tony wants Peter to drive the car to the hospital, which makes Peter confess that he totalled Mr. Thompson's car. They call May and put her on speaker, because she's the only one who can give any good advice  
> \- Tony meets Ned and MJ on seperate occasions  
> \- Tony is the one who tells May that Peter is gone  
> \- the Avengers have a discussion about looking after Queens   
> \- more of Tony mourning with specific things/actions/words that remind him of Peter


	3. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Easy,” Tony answers, “we try again. There’s no fail option with this. We don’t give up until we have Peter back.” 
> 
> The atmosphere in the room changes again. No one of them wants to challenge Tony, not when he’s hell-bent on getting his kid back. But they’re not as optimistic (or maybe frantic or delusional) about it like he is. They entertain the idea of them failing because it is possible – Tony straight up denies that possibility. 
> 
> Again, Nat is the bravest of them all. “What if Peter doesn’t want to come back?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Thank you so much everyone who leaves a comment, kudo or bookmark, I really appreciate them, and I'm so happy that you enjoy the story as much as I do! ❤ I changed the uploading schedule a bit, adding Sundays to the original Wednesdays, and I hope none of you mind :)
> 
> Emails from ao3 still seem to come around quite delayed, but if you follow me on [tumblr](https://jen27ny.tumblr.com/) you can always see when I'll update. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

Wolkow doesn’t even wait until the helicopter touches the ground before shoving Siegfried out of the machine. He keeps following him inside the hideout (a new one, Siegfried notices, and for a second he wonders if anyone had picked up the book he has been reading or if that is still in their old hideout), a hand on his back, pushing him forward. There are a million and one questions on Siegfried’s mind, but he knows Wolkow wouldn’t answer him. There is only one person who always answers his questions.

Luckily, that’s where Wolkow brings him to.

Wolkow pushes him into a debriefing room, and closes the door behind them. Schneider und Thomas are already there, standing at the other side of the room and talking in low voices. Siegfried tries not to eavesdrop, but that’s harder than it looks when you have enhanced senses. He catches the word Avengers, which has to be a name, because they are talking in German again and Avengers is not a German word.

When they stalk over to him, Siegfried fumbles to get the hard drive out of his pocket. However, just as he extends his hand out for them to grab it, Schneider slaps his hand away, sending the hard drive skittering across the floor. Siegfried expects to be slapped next, but it doesn’t happen. That always takes him by surprise, leaving his body tense, almost waiting for the punishment to happen. Maybe Schneider is just trying to catch him off guard.

“What was your order?” Schneider asks in a hard voice that makes his accent more prominent.

Siegfried tries to look as cool and collected as he can, clasping his hands behind his back, looking straight ahead. “To collect the data, Sir.”

“And what did you do?”

“I collected the data, Sir.” He points to the hard drive on the ground, and now the slap happens. It stings like always, but some of the tension leaves his shoulders. Usually, he doesn’t get slapped more than once.

“You fought them.”

“I had no other choice, Sir. They were between me and the exit.” Schneider doesn’t answer him, and Siegfried moves his eyes to Thomas. He doesn’t look happy at all. “Who were they, anyway?”

“They’re not important,” Thomas says, slowly moving to the hard drive and picking it up, spinning it between his fingers before pocketing it.

Siegfried has a feeling that that’s a lie. The thought that Thomas always insists he would never lie to him flashes across his mind. “They knew me,” he argues. “They called me Peter.”

The atmosphere in the room changes. The constant tingling in his neck grows stronger. He picks up Schneider’s hitched breath, Thomas’ low growl. It’s a very unusual reaction. Eventually, Thomas turns back to him, his eyes dark. This is new. Siegfried hasn’t seen Thomas this angry before.

Slowly, the scientist walks closer, stopping two feet in front of him. Siegfried is very aware that Wolkow is blocking his exit. The other agents still have their guns, and all Siegfried has is the knife Schneider gave him during their underwater training. Wolkow made him take off all his other weapons, including his web shooters, in the helicopter. Thomas stands tall, almost a foot taller than himself and looks down on him.

(Robot Man’s face flashes before Siegfried’s eyes.)

“You know them through an undercover mission,” Thomas says slowly but with meaning. “Your mission was to infiltrate their team, to find their weaknesses and play on their emotions. Peter was your alias.”

Siegfried doesn’t say anything, just stares back into Thomas’ eyes. It’s always an undercover mission he forgot about. Slowly, he begins to wonder how many undercover missions exactly he’d been on. Especially considering that Schneider needed to teach him so many things again.

(Weirdly enough, he hasn’t been on an undercover mission since he woke up almost two years ago. You would think they’re itching to send him on one again, given how good he apparently is at them.)

“Who were they?” Siegfried asks instead.

“They call themselves the Avengers. A group of vigilantes determined to stop us from realizing our mission.”

He thinks back to the four people. They didn’t look like evil people who don’t want world peace, who want the evil in the world to win. But maybe they were just surprised to see him. Maybe his emotional manipulation had worked really well. Also, looks can be deceiving. They could make themselves look innocent and nice to play him.

Siegfried really doesn’t like mind games. They’re so confusing.

He’s got a lot more questions, but Thomas has the look in his eyes that tells him question time is over. “Come with me,” he says instead, walking past him and out of the door Wolkow stepped aside from. Siegfried’s feet are moving, following him, before he can even think about doing something else.

They go into a chamber that has the chair in it. The entire room looks like it’s just been finished getting set up moments ago. That isn’t unusual. The chair and Thomas’ research are the only things that follow them to each and every hideout.

Thomas doesn’t bother telling Siegfried to take a seat, he already knows the drill. As the needles of the electrodes stick into his head, a tight knot forms inside his stomach. Something tells him that he should say no to this. That he doesn’t want it. Why does he need it, anyway? He doesn’t have any confusing memories. They only use this machine if Siegfried isn’t sure what’s reality and what’s just made up by his imagination.

“Now,” Thomas says, switching the machines on, and taking a seat next to him, as Siegfried closes his eyes, “let me tell you about the undercover mission of infiltrating the Avengers.”

* * *

“We have good news and we have bad news,” Nat opens the debriefing. Tony is glad that she takes the lead – he hasn’t slept even for a minute tonight. Not that he really tried to sleep. His mind has been working and working, trying to come up with the best way to get Peter back. In the few moments he hasn’t thought about a plan, memories of the last few years haunted him. Or the look of total confusion on Peter’s face as he saw him.

“Start with the bad news,” Rhodey says. The rest of the team (minus Clint and Scott who are with their families) only came back from their mission a few hours ago, and they’re all less than pleased that they only had enough time for a quick nap, a shower, and some snacks before being called into this meeting. To be honest, Tony could care less about their sleep and eating schedule right now.

Nat gives him a tight-lipped smile. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work with this kind of news.”

“On our mission yesterday,” Steve starts explaining, his eyes darting to Tony for a second, “we found Peter.”

Now, all the eyes in the room turn to Tony, who just keeps staring straight ahead. On the holo-screen in the middle of the room is a picture of his suit’s security footage, the moment he first came face to face with Peter. The team waits for him to say something, but Tony refuses to answer. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that he has no answer.

“And the bad news is that he’s still as annoying and hyperactive as back then?” Sam asks, trying to get rid of the tension in the room that threatens to suffocate them all. Nobody laughs.

“We think Peter might’ve been brainwashed.”

“Wha- Brainwashed?” Rhodey looks from Steve to Tony, like he’s waiting for some kind of punchline, like this is some form of evil, elaborate joke. But Tony isn’t laughing. “Like Barnes was?”

“No, we don’t think so,” Natasha continues. “The Winter Soldier was very focused on fighting and killing his enemies, executing his missions perfectly. Peter didn’t seem like that.”

“Are you suggesting that they changed Mr. Parker’s entire personality?” Vision asks.

“That’s our best guess,” Tony eventually says, before his eyes drift to Wanda.

She is already looking at him. “You want me to go inside his head.”

“You can find out if they did something to his memories, and if they did, remove it.”

“I’m not sure if I can really do that,” she admits. After Sokovia, Wanda used her mind-manipulation powers less, not liking what happened the last time she did. Instead, she focused more on the telekinesis side of it, controlling the power in her sleep, so no mistake with dire consequences would happen again.

“You’re our best shot, Wanda,” Steve encourages her. “We will get you as close to him as we can get, and you just try your best.” There is a part of Tony who wants to protest, who wants to demand that she succeed at this, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“If we find him –“

“When we find him,” Tony corrects Natasha in a grim voice.

He can clearly see her suppressing a sigh that would condemn his optimism in finding Peter again. “ _When_ we find him, getting close to him and holding him still long enough for Wanda to go into his head will be the difficult part. We all know Peter was strong before,” They never really tested where the limit of his physical strength is, but there had been the tug of war between Peter and Steve during his summer break that had gone on for _hours_ until their special robe snapped, “but we have to assume he’s a lot stronger now. He’s been trained well by someone, and at the very least his fighting style completely changed. And his electric webs.”

“Sorry, electric what now?” Sam asks, leaning forward on his elbows, looking like he’s still trying to get all the information into his head.

“Electric webs,” Barnes repeats.

“The webs themselves aren’t electric, they only conduct electricity from a power source in his shooters,” Tony explains. He figured that out after analyzing the remains of his webs they gathered from the hideout and watching the footage of the fight on loop. Tony is not quite sure what he should do with that information. Sure, he’s made the taser webs combination for Spider-Man, but they’re a joke compared to what Peter has now. The taser webs were always meant to momentarily immobile his opponents – those webs now? They are meant to kill.

Steve straightens his shoulders. Tony knows at once that whatever the super soldier is going to say, he won’t like it. “Which means neither you or Rhodey can get close to him.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Tony hisses. There’s a hand on his shoulder, probably Rhodey’s, but he can’t calm down now.

“Tony, he managed to damage your suit to the point you couldn’t move,” Steve explains slowly, like he’s talking to a child. There are several noises of surprise coming from the others. “If he can do that again while one of you is in the air…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. They all know what can happen when the suit stops functioning mid-flight. They’re reminded of it every time they look at the colonel.

“Vision, Bucky, or Steve should try holding him down,” Nat eventually continues. “They’re closest when it comes to his strength. Everyone else will distract whoever is with him, making sure they can’t help him.”

“And what’s our backup plan? In case…” Rhodey doesn’t finish his sentence. In case they don’t find him again. In case they can’t get a hold of him. In case he fights his way out of it. In case Wanda fails. In case they already lost Peter forever. There are so many possible scenarios that end nightmarish.

“Easy,” Tony answers, “we try again. There’s no fail option with this. We don’t give up until we have Peter back.”

The atmosphere in the room changes again. No one of them wants to challenge Tony, not when he’s hell-bent on getting his kid back. But they’re not as optimistic (or maybe frantic or delusional) about it like he is. They entertain the idea of them failing because it is possible – Tony straight up denies that possibility.

Again, Nat is the bravest of them all. “What if Peter doesn’t want to come back?”

* * *

The change in Siegfried’s mentors is more than obvious.

Thomas is tense. Really tense. He barely tolerates any questions from Siegfried. Which really bugs him, because he has so many and no one else answers them. He also gets snappier, losing his temper quite often whenever Siegfried steps into the lab to make more of his web fluid. Siegfried would visit the lab when Thomas isn’t there to not interrupt him, but he still isn’t allowed to be alone in there.

He figures that these Avenger-guys are the reason Thomas is behaving like this and not his disobedience on the mission. Which makes him wonder once more why Thomas told him they’re unimportant when every little thing he does speaks the complete opposite.

Thomas makes Siegfried use the chair daily for hours. They talk a lot about his time in HYDRA, even bringing up his parents, which is a first. It’s exhausting, the annoying rings and beeps giving him major headaches and leaving him confused. Now more than ever.

“I don’t understand why we’re doing this,” he says as he sits back on the chair. Thomas rams an electrode in his head with more force than usual. Siegfried understands the message loud and clear, but he really wants to know why they’re doing this. He can handle the pain, but not knowing what’s going on? No. “We usually only do this if I have trouble remembering something. But I remember everything.”

“Drink this,” Thomas only answers as he rams the last electrode in Siegfried’s forehead, and hands him a glass with a drink that’s already burning his nostrils. He takes it immediately and chucks it down (not noticing the tingling in his neck because of the horrible taste), hoping that following the command would lead to getting some answers. It tastes absolutely awful, making him gag and waters his eyes. However, Thomas does seem a little more relaxed. “It’s for your immune system. So you don’t get sick.”

“I don’t feel sick,” Siegfried answers, his tongue feeling slightly heavier than usual. One of the perks of being an abomination with freaky powers – he’s pretty sure it’s about the only perk.

“And we want it to stay that way, right?” Thomas gives him a tight-lipped smile, and turns on the machines. “Now, we’ll talk about your childhood again.” Siegfried nods, suddenly feeling very sluggish, the only clear sound in the room Thomas’ voice. “Or maybe I’ll just tell you about it. You don’t look like you’re up for talking a lot. Besides,” Just as his eyelids are starting to fall down, Thomas leans forward, his smile widening and almost looking predatory, “you know I would never lie to you.”

“Right,” Siegfried manages to answer.

(It’s not like he can ask anybody else.)

* * *

Whenever Siegfried isn’t spending time with Thomas or sleeping, Schneider demands he trains with him. Well, them. Because now, Wolkow is a permanent member of their training sessions that are becoming increasingly harder.

“We will both fight you,” Schneider announces on their first training session after the mission. “The Avengers always fight as a team, so you will have more than one opponent.”

“Do you really think I’ll meet them again, Sir?” Siegfried asks, adding the Sir in the last moment and dropping the arm he just stretched to stand at attention. Over the last few months, he’s started to sometimes lower his guard around the older agent, which is always a risky move. He’s working on correcting that behavior.

“It is unavoidable.”

“Why?”

Schneider draws his eyebrows together but keeps stoically silent. “Less talking, more fighting,” Wolkow answers instead and swings his fist at Siegfried.

They’re not fighting to hurt him, which is new. Until now, Schneider always prepared him for the scenario that his opponent wants to hurt and probably kill him, and that reflected in his fighting style. But this is different. Their punches and kicks are relatively painless, only meant to distract him long enough for one of them to get a hold of him and trying to get him off the mat, which Siegfried shouldn’t let happen.

“What are you doing?” Siegfried asks an hour in, when Wolkow and Schneider both manages to drag him off the mat for the third time.

“We are training you,” Schneider answers, stepping back into the middle of the room. “Again. Stay on the mat.”

“But this is unlike my usual training, Sir.” Wolkow looks from Schneider to Siegfried and back, choosing to stay out of the conversation.

He can see Schneider thinking about this, the cold eyes burning into him, as if he’s trying to find the answer to an especially difficult question. Usually whenever he thinks this hard about answering one of Siegfried’s questions, he doesn’t get an answer at all. Which is why he’s so surprised when Schneider takes a couple of steps back towards him. “The Avengers are not like your usual enemy. They do not want to hurt you. They want to take you with them.”

“But why? They’re our enemy. I am _their_ enemy. Why do they want me with them?”

Schneider pulls his eyebrows together. The gesture is small, and you wouldn’t even notice it if you weren’t staring at him – but Siegfried stares. “Did Thomas not tell you about your mission?”

A bang of disappointment echoes in Siegfried’s chest. “He told me I infiltrated them, played on their emotions, to get information about their future plans. It worked better than expected and they didn’t suspect anything, denying the fact that I’m anybody other than the Peter Parker they think I am.”

“Then you know everything.”

“But who are they? The Avengers, I mean.” Schneider doesn’t answer. “Sir, if you’re so sure I will fight them again, I should be prepared. Part of being prepared is knowing my enemy. You taught me that, Sir.”

Schneider obviously doesn’t like that Siegfried uses his own words against him, and the young agent expects some sort of punishment for it, maybe a slap or a bullet next to his head or running for hours until he tells him to stop – but nothing comes. Instead, Schneider takes a deep breath: “The Avengers are all very dangerous individuals, but they are even more dangerous as a team. They have special and unique equipment, like the suits of armor, wings, and the technology that will allow them to shrink. They are trained killers and spies, chemically modified soldiers, one is a witch, and one is not human at all. If you fight them, you have to fight to kill. Otherwise, they _will_ win.”

(Siegfried thinks back to the four people he met in that computer room. Somehow, he has trouble connecting them with what he learned about them. Not the technology part or that they’re well trained – that’s obviously true – but that they’re evil and want people to suffer.)

“But why do they want me back? Why do they keep believing that I’m Peter Parker when I proved that I’m not?”

Schneider’s left eye twitches. It’s never done that before. Siegfried doesn’t know how to react or what to expect. Tension is building between them, though Siegfried can’t say what has been so bad about his question. Suddenly, Schneider makes a sharp turn, stomping back to the center of the mat. “I am your trainer, not a storyteller. Now, again.”

They continue to train for hours, every single day, making sure Siegfried knows how to get as slippery as he can get to get out of any hold anyone tries to hold him down with. Wolkow and Schneider even start using weapons and other equipment, eventually calling more and more agents in to fight against him.

But whenever Siegfried’s mind is clear enough to concentrate on something other than dodging a punch or getting out of choke hold, his thoughts turn to Schneider’s words. There’s something about them that bothers Siegfried and it’s the word storyteller. He can’t quite put his finger on why exactly it bothers him, but it seems so… un-Schneider-like. The man is always direct and blunt, just as precise and controlled as his kicks and punches, never extravagant in his word choice, and yet… why would he use that word? He could’ve said history teacher or something along those lines, something that indicates that he’s talking about his past – but he used storyteller. Someone who tells a story. Siegfried translated the word into German, wondering if it has a different meaning in the language, one that makes more sense, and Schneider simply misused the word. But it means the same. And Schneider always uses the right words to express best what he wants to say.

Siegfried keeps thinking about the word storyteller, and the way Thomas’ explanations about his past leave a weird feeling of doubt in his chest.

* * *

For twenty-two days, everything is quiet, almost boring. Siegfried spends his days training relentlessly, focusing on escaping his enemies, and spending hours with Thomas on the chair, reliving his life before he lost his memories. The procedure is different now, whenever he uses it. They do it at the end of the day, when Siegfried is so exhausted from all his training that he can barely keep his eyes open. Plus, there is the drink he’s getting. It still tastes absolutely terrible and it makes concentrating even harder – however, his memories get sharper and more vivid. He can smell the perfume his mother used whenever they talk about her, hears his father’s chuckles in his ears, and feel all the hugs Thomas says he’s given him throughout his life.

Siegfried isn’t sent on any missions and it’s the longest time without them since he started them. After his very first mission, he would’ve been delighted about it, but now he is really bothered by their absence. True, he doesn’t like most of his missions, but they are a part of his usual routine and a way for him to get out of the hideout they’re staying at. Taking the missions away makes him feel trapped and on edge, like he’s just waiting for something big to happen.

And something big does happen.

Because the Avengers find him.

Thomas and Schneider let Siegfried go on a mission, though very reluctantly. However, they need his strength for the operation. They’re supposed to steal some kind of machinery from an old lab, but it’s too heavy for any of the agents to move and something like a crane would be too suspicious. So, they need Siegfried. He tries not to show his relief at hearing the news. Being stuck inside the hideout is so exhausting.

The lab they go to has clearly been abandoned for several years. It looks more like an old factory instead of the labs Siegfried is used to. There’s a lot of steel and brick, dirt, rust, and dust, and the stench of old blood and urine. As the other agents – there _a lot_ of them, more than Siegfried has ever seen in one place and he wonders if _he’s_ the reason for their presence or something else – are securing the perimeter while Schneider and he search the machine. Schneider has his gun in his hand, finger on the trigger, ready to shoot at the tiniest noise. Never before has Siegfried seen the man this on edge.

They haven’t even reached the machine, when Siegfried’s ears pick up a noise he’s never heard before.

No, he has heard it before. Once. The sound of something flying.

Robot Man.

“They’re coming,” Siegfried says at once, making sure the shooters around his wrists are tight, and pulls out a gun and loading it in the same motion.

(This time, he notices the absence of the tingle in his neck, but he has no time to think about it.)

To his surprise, Schneider curses once – which is very new –, raising his gun. “We are going back.”

That’s even more surprising. They never abandoned a mission before. “Sir?”

“It is an order. Back. Now!”

There are gunshots and angry shouts, screams in several languages, and then an explosion, one that shatters a window to their left. Something flies into the room and hovers in the air. For a second, Siegfried thinks it’s Robot Man because the style of the armor is the same, but then he notices the differences. This armor is dark grey, not the shiny red and gold, and bulkier with a machine gun on its shoulder.

A machine gun that starts firing at them. Siegfried’s instincts take over – he shoots a web to a pillar nearby and flies out of the way just in time. Out of the corners of his eyes, he sees Schneider dodging the attack, starting to fire his gun as soon as he’s on his feet again, but the bullets just bounce off the suit uselessly. “GO!” he screams, not looking at Siegfried, but he knows it’s an order for him.

There is a part of him that’s hesitant about leaving the other agents. HYDRA is his family. These agents are his family, even though he might not know them very well. Hell, he barely knows anything about Schneider, and he spent so much time with him. The loyal part of him tells him to stay, to help them out. He’s the best chance they have at getting out of this alive.

But Schneider gave him an order. And Siegfried remembers what happens when he disobeys orders.

His neck starts to tingle, and Siegfried moves, getting out of the way of the small rocket that completely demolishes the pillar he just stuck to. Then there’s a new sound of something flying through the air, but it’s much sharper, more like cutting air. Siegfried rolls to his side, shooting at what turns out to be a guy with mechanical wings. If the situation would be different, he would definitely marvel over those wings, wondering how they make them move so organically, but he has no time for that.

The guy is charging at him again, and Siegfried runs, remembering his orders. Siegfried feels like he’s at a disadvantage by running on his feet, so he decides to swing through the corridor, latching one web after the other to the ceiling, feeling safer in the air than on the ground. Wing Guy is still hot on his heels, but never quite catching up. A small voice that sounds suspiciously like Schneider’s tells him this is a trap. Wing Guy can clearly catch up to him. Why isn’t he?

Just as that thought crosses his mind, Wing Guy disappears. Siegfried has no time to wonder why – the tingle in his neck transforms to a full vibration at the same time as a foot hits his stomach. Hard. Surprised by it, he lets go off his web, rolling around the floor before springing to his feet, immediately blocking another kick that comes his way. A few punches follow, fast and precise enough that he can’t catch his breath until he manages to kick his opponent, sending them sliding across the room.

They quickly get back on their feet, jumping up in one graceful motion, and Siegfried recognizes his opponent as the red-haired woman from his last mission. She’s smirking, her posture almost relaxed, but there is something about her that makes Siegfried keep his guard up.

“Hey Peter,” she says smoothly, almost sounding amused at the entire situation. “Good to see you again. You surprised us quite a bit last time. We missed you a lot.”

Siegfried doesn’t know what to make of her words. What’s with the Avengers and talking to him? “I know you think I’m Peter Parker,” he answers instead, starting to copy her circling motion, “but I’m not.”

She cocks her head to the side, one carefully plucked eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

“I’m Siegfried.”

“Cute name.”

“Thanks, I got it for my birthday.”

A smile spreads across her face, one that shows all of her teeth and doesn’t reach her eyes at all. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Then, she leaps at him again, trying to land kicks and punches, trying to pull his legs out underneath him or make him lose his balance, but Siegfried stands his ground. He’s not quite sure if he would be able to match her skills if Schneider hasn’t changed his training in the last few weeks. But he blocks every punch, avoids every kick, is able to predict her next move soon enough – and their fight starts to feel like a dance. She can read his body language just as well as he can read hers. Every attack is parried by the corresponding block. The slightest pull of a muscle tells them their next move, and their minds go to the same tactic. This fight could probably go on for hours.

Siegfried doesn’t have the time for this to go on that long. He remembers his orders. And he has one crucial advantage – his strength. It takes him five attempts, but at the sixth, Siegfried manages to kick her in the stomach, hard enough that she crashes against the next wall, sliding down on it, a protective hand over her abdomen, face scrunched up in pain.

There’s a tiny voice in Siegfried’s head that tells him to make sure she’s okay.

He doesn’t listen to that voice. Without looking at her again, he turns around and runs down the hallway.

Outside, the fight is still going on, but Siegfried tries not to think about it. There’s a jeep parked at a side entrance of the lab and if his ears aren’t betraying him, nobody is close to that jeep now. It’s his best chance of escaping – not that it’s really a _good_ chance. With what he’s seen, the Avengers who are flying are a lot faster than a jeep. Sure, the woods might give him some cover, but for how long? Besides, Siegfried doesn’t know where the hideout is. They never give him any coordinates or locations, all he has is whatever he remembers from the outbound flight.

The second Siegfried steps into another hall, something flies at him and he only manages to dodge at the last second, cursing the late reaction of the tingle in his neck whenever it comes to the Avengers. He has barely enough time to recognize the something as a red and blue shield, when the owner of the shield appears in front of him. Siegfried blocks Shield Guy’s punch, but he is surprised by the strength behind it. Which comes around to bite him in his ass, because Shield Guy uses his surprise and kicks him in the stomach, hard enough to send him flying through the room.

It’s by far not the first time Siegfried has been kicked, but never with so much strength. The kick knocked out all the air in his lungs, having him gasping for it. Everything in his body tells him to just stay down, just lay there in the pain – and then everything in his body screams at him to move. He raises his hands to his face, just in time to catch something that would otherwise have crushed his skull.

Opening his eyes, Siegfried looks straight into the face of Metal Arm Guy. Which he should’ve guessed, seeing as he’s still trying to keep that metal arm from crushing him. “HYDRA is not your home,” Metal Arm Guy says, continuing to press his fist forward, but Siegfried pushes back.

“And how do you know that?” Siegfried presses out through gritted teeth.

“Because they’ve done the same to me.”

His words are surely meant to distract Siegfried, to make him lose focus, but he’s not playing that game. Schneider taught him about his enemies trying to distract him with lies and trying to get to his empathetic side. Siegfried pulls up his knee, slamming it into Metal Arm Guy’s side – hard.

He rolls out under him, and then rolls some more because Shield Guy is there, trying to hit him with his shield again. Metal Arm Guy is quick to follow, and before Siegfried knows it, he’s fighting both of them at once. It’s very different than the fight against the woman. Obviously, he’s fighting two people at once now, but the style is also different. They’re not as gracile as the woman, larger and bulkier and that is reflected in the way they fight. Siegfried is smaller, leaner, faster, and swifter, which he uses to his advantage, but his biggest problem is that Shield Guy and Metal Arm Guy are a well-rehearsed team. They clearly know how to fight together, leaving Siegfried barely any openings, protecting each other from possible unseen attacks.

Scratch that, Siegfried gets no openings at all for an attack. He’s too busy avoiding a shield decapitating him or a metal arm punching out his organs. They’re tiring him out, he realizes, and it’s working pretty well. He’s not sure how long he can keep this up, and he doesn’t want to find out what happens when he gets so tired that he makes mistakes.

New plan. As Siegfried slides through the legs of Metal Arm Guy, he shoots a web to the ceiling corner, flying up there and sticking to the wall. The shield follows him which he already anticipated. He catches it easily enough, using it to block the bullets that are following, which he also anticipated.

“Vision, Wanda,” Shield Guy says into comms.

That can’t be good. Siegfried doesn’t need more people to fight. The second the fusillade of bullets stops, Siegfried throws the shield back at them, using it as a distraction to latch a web on each of their necks. Then, he turns the setting of the power source on his shooters to high – higher than he ever used on any living being – presses down, sending shock waves through his webs until they crumble to the ground.

Again, he ignores the tiny voice in his head that urges him to make sure they are okay – or just apologize – and he shoots another web to the next doorway, swinging away from those two before they could get back on their feet. Siegfried actually makes it through the corridor and the next hall, almost reaching the jeep, seeing bits and pieces of the battle outside through explosion holes in the walls, when suddenly someone flies into the room.

Not through one of the holes or a window or a secret doorway.

No, straight through the wall, as if it weren’t even there, levitating in the air. “What the hell?” Siegfried whispers, coming to a full stop and watching the purplish man float in the air. Schneider told him that one of them isn’t human. That has to be the one.

“I do not wish to harm you,” the … something says in a calm, almost robotic voice.

“Awesome,” he replies, still a bit out of breath, “then you’ll just let me pass, right?” Siegfried isn’t waiting for an answer, darting forward, ready to fight – and then a yellow beam of energy fires at him, making him jump back a few feet. For a heartbeat, he can only stare at the small crater in the ground, smoke rising from it idly. Slowly, Siegfried lifts his gaze up again, eyes focusing on the yellow stone in Something’s forehead. Its glow dims, just like the tingling in his neck that suddenly spiked up.

“I am afraid I cannot let that happen,” Something says.

“Bummer.”

Siegfried wants to raise his arms, thinking his electric webs might be the best thing he has against Something, but he can’t move a single muscle in his body. A red, swirling light wraps around his body, making it impossible for him to move even a tiny bit.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” a new, accented voice says. Siegfried can barely turn his head enough to take a look at her. A young woman, not that much older than himself, steps out of a niche. Her hands are raised, fingers dancing in a bizarre way, the red light moving between them. That has to be the witch. Out of the corners of his eyes, he sees Something moving. “But this is for your own good.”

“How about you let me be the judge of that?” Siegfried asks, barely able to get the words out.

Something is behind him, Siegfried just knows it. The next second, Something has his arms wrapped around him, just in time for the magic to disappear. At once, Siegfried tries to break out of the hold, but it’s no use. The arms don’t budge at all, no matter how hard he tries.

He has no time to dwell on that because Witch steps closer to him (though not close enough for his kicks to reach her), hands raised with the magic still flowing around them. Siegfried half expects her to make a comment, but she doesn’t. No, she simply throws a ball of that red magic right at his face and says: “Remember.”

His first instinct is to not remember, to disobey her command, because he only has to follow Schneider’s, Wolkow’s, or Thomas’ commands. But not following commands is easier when they tell you to move, not control your thoughts. And Siegfried knows she’s inside his head. He’s not quite sure how he knows it, but there is… something that makes the little hairs on his arms stand up, a weird, invasive echo inside his skull that he desperately wants to rip out of there. His thoughts and memories are his own, and he doesn’t want her snooping around. He tries to push her out, tries to keep her from his memories and his thoughts, chanting _go away, go away, go away_ in his head over and over.

However, all his inner rebellion is useless. Despite Siegfried’s best efforts, he is remembering, half-wondering if her magic coaxes the memories simply out into the open. Before his eyes appear his mother and his father, going with him into the training room to show him how to throw a proper punch. It’s the last memory Thomas told him about on the chair, and Siegfried likes that memory. But now, the magic weaves its way into it. It’s crawling across the gym floor, climbing up his parents, tearing at them – it leaves a hollow, painful feeling inside his chest.

“Stop it!” Siegfried hisses, shaking his head, desperately trying to keep the magic from a treasured memory from his parents.

To his surprise, the magic does leave, instead forcing a different scene forward. He’s in the lab with Thomas, surrounded by the big, bluish screens, the sounds of the machines around them a constant cushion in their conversation. For a second, everything looks completely normal, until the red magic weasels its way in. Siegfried sees it climb up the screens and Thomas – but it’s different than before. There’s no painful feeling that makes him fight the magic. It makes him feel confused, almost curious even.

Because the way the magic changes the scene isn’t unfamiliar.

The blue screens free themselves from the monitors and start hovering in the air. The constant noise of the machines changes into music, soft but definitely distinguished. There’s a female voice with an Irish accent that Siegfried feels like he knows. And then, there’s Thomas. His clothes are the first thing to change. The usual white lab coat is gone, substituted by a pair of worn jeans and a faded graphic shirt, maybe a band logo on it. Suddenly, Thomas is spinning something through his fingers, a wrench Siegfried realizes, and he starts talking, explaining what he’s doing, giving him detailed information about his thought process. He’s never done something like this before. Thomas always uses his lab as a place of concentrated work where you only speak if you have to.

Then, there’s a laugh. Booming, echoing from the walls that are suddenly made out of glass, carefree, warm, and loving. It punches the air out of Siegfried lungs, and he looks up into Thomas’ face – but it’s not Thomas, who’s looking at him with a wide smile and shining eyes and love so overwhelming it makes him dizzy.

It’s the face of Robot Man.

The scene before him keeps glitching, switching between what Siegfried knows is reality between the magical version of it (the version he’s seen in his dreams). It’s confusing, especially when the individual parts keep switching on their own, invading the other version of the lab. But that’s not the most confusing thing. It’s this weird feeling inside his stomach that makes him doubt what’s reality and what’s magic. Which is insane, because he knows what’s true, knows what’s the real version of it – and yet he looks at the flying screens, hears the music and the laughter, can’t tear his eyes away from Robot Man’s joyful face, and he feels a deep longing for this.

What if… What if that version is the rea-

A shot cuts through the air. A scream follows and the magic disappears abruptly. Siegfried blinks once, twice, and sees Witch before him, a hand grabbing her shoulder, slumped forward and face pulled into a painful grimace. Behind her, he sees Schneider in the jeep, gun raised, a trail of blood coming from his hairline and running down his face.

The iron grip around him loosens, and Siegfried doesn’t think. A second ago, his thought and feeling were all muddled, confused by the things Witch made him want to believe were real – but now everything is clear. It was a distraction, nothing more, just like every other Avenger before her had done. Siegfried throws his head back, ignoring the pain that shoots through his entire body when he smashes against Something’s skull, and it does the trick. Something lets go of him, and Siegfried just runs towards Schneider.

This time, the tingle in his neck doesn’t fail him, warning him of danger in time for him to dodge the yellow energy beams. A part of him wants to look back, see why Something isn’t just appearing in front of him again or why Witch doesn’t do her red magic-stuff again, but he decides he doesn’t care. They toyed with him long enough, and it’s time for him to focus again.

Schneider is in the back of the jeep, fiddling with something that looks like a rocket launcher, but Siegfried trusts his mentor to handle the situation, opting to jump into the driver’s seat and start the car. A quick glance in the mirror tells him that Wolkow is coming towards them, and Siegfried knows he can collect him on their escape route. But what about the other agents?

“Drive,” Schneider orders, not sounding concerned for his comrades at all. That’s right. Agents are used to getting left behind – except for Siegfried. They always look out for him.

He starts the engine, one foot hovering above the gas pedal – and then he sees something else in the mirror. Robot Man is in the air, flying in one spot, looking at them. And Siegfried hesitates. The face with the sentimental look appears before his eyes.

(For the fraction of a second, he wonders if that look has been real. If he has been the one receiving it.

And he wonders what would happen if he stays.)

“Drive!” Schneider orders again, rocket launcher fully assembled in his hand.

_Obey or people die._

He steps on the gas pedal, engine screeching to life as Schneider fires the rocket. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the lab explode, blocking the way to them and burying a few of the agents underneath the flying rumbles. Siegfried tries to ignore it, concentrating on the order he was given.

Wolkow jumps into the passenger seat just as they reach the tree line, and Siegfried drives through the trees in a zig-zag style, hoping to lose anyone who might be following them. There are enough who could tail them: Robot Man, Other Robot Man, Wing Guy, Something. Witch can possibly fly, too, and the other ones could get a car and catch up with them.

But no one follows them. A tight knot forms in his stomach, telling him that something isn’t right. By the tense and sparsely words Schneider and Wolkow exchange, he knows they don’t like it either.

Schneider gives him directions to a hidden jet, barely big enough to hold all three of them, but fast. He and Wolkow climb into the cockpit, leaving Siegfried in the back, squeezed between weapons and parachutes. In a matter of seconds, they are in the air, flying off to their – presumably – new hideout.

Now, sitting in the jet on his way home, all the pain and exhaustion crashes over Siegfried. There’s not a single bone in his body that doesn’t hurt, and he’s pretty sure he’ll be covered in bruises tomorrow. His head is pounding, not only because head-butting Something hurt like hell, but because of the aftereffects of the magic.

“What did that witch do to you?” Schneider asks after several minutes, just as Siegfried is about to fall asleep.

He thinks about the question for a moment, not knowing how to answer it. A part of him doesn’t want to answer. But ignoring Schneider’s answers is never a good idea. “She was in my head, Sir.”

“What did she do there?”

“I think she looked at my memories, Sir.” That’s not a complete lie, but not the complete truth either. However, something inside him really urges him on to keep his mouth shut about what she did to the memory of the lab.

* * *

Tony itches to scream at someone. Letting Peter escape hasn’t been part of the plan. Well, not part of _his_ plan, which everyone else has vetoed before. Not that Tony can understand it. Why couldn’t they just kidnap him and let Wanda do her thing at the compound?

“He needs to come to us on his own,” Rhodey says as he lands next to him. Rhodey has always been great at reading his sulking silences.

“Why? If we’re fixing him, he comes back to us anyway, so why not save him the trip?” Rhodey doesn’t answer. Not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because he wants to spare Tony from hearing it.

There’s a real possibility they can’t _fix_ him. And if they can’t, then they have a highly trained, loyal HYDRA agent in the compound who’s able to stand his ground against the entire team.

Tony doesn’t like that thought at all for multiple reasons, so he tries to ignore it. “What about the others?”

“Nat is still talking to the last living agents,” Rhodey explains, overlooking the chaos of the battle field they’re about to leave behind, “Sam makes a final round through the building. Vision carried Steve and Bucky into the jet, they’re both still out cold, but they’ll live. We got the bullet out of Wanda and gave her some pain meds.”

Tony doesn’t answer. He didn’t like it at all that he’d been the only one who hadn’t been allowed to tire Peter out. Something about him being too close to the mission or whatever – and the thing about Peter knowing how to damage the suit. Involving Rhodey the way they did had been risky, but they needed to cut Peter off from the other agent.

Making a sharp turn, he stomps back to the jet, Rhodey hot on his heels, probably to do damage control. Tony walks straight to Wanda, who’s holding her bandaged shoulder, but the pained expression is gone from her face. “How did it go?”

She looks up to him with lazy eyes, fighting through the veil of pain and the pain meds. “I think they blocked all of his old memories,” she answers slowly, “and created new ones, making him an entirely new person. One who was raised by HYDRA and is loyal to them.”

“Siegfried.” They all turn around, seeing Nat walk into the jet. There’s the slightest limp to her walk, a leftover from her fight with Peter. “He says that’s his name.”

Tony thinks he never heard a name uglier. But maybe that’s just because Siegfried is keeping Peter from them.

“Did you manage to break those blockades?” Rhodey asks.

Tony’s heart sinks right through his stomach and then the floor of the jet as Wanda shakes her head. “Not completely, no. He was fighting a lot. It wasn’t easy to get access to a memory that I could unravel, but I cracked the blockades a bit before they shot me.”

“It could be enough,” Natasha reasons.

“Or it couldn’t be and we just drove them deeper into hiding.” Tony tries to keep the venom out of his voice, he really does, but he’s just so frustrated. He wants Peter back, wants him safe and happy, wants him with his family, but nothing seems to work in their favor. “Please tell me you got anything useful from those guys, Nat.”

Natasha shrugs, leaning against the walls of the jet. “Nothing specific, because they barely knew anything about him. They knew that they’re expected to die to protect him or to make sure he gets away. They knew that they’ll most like flee to a new place, one they don’t know about.”

“That’s it?” She nods. “Maybe I can beat a few more answers out of them.”

“I ignore that you just sounded like you think I can’t do my job right.” Tony scrunches up his face, choosing not to answer. Nat just rolls his eyes, obviously not taking his words too seriously. “Besides, you can’t beat information out of dead people.” All of their heads turn to the spy, who only looks back. “Don’t give me that look. I didn’t kill them, they did it themselves. Had some poisonous pills with them. Like I said, they were all prepared to die for him.”

Tony doesn’t like this at all. Not one bit. Because if they’re so desperate to keep him, they’ll surely send someone after him to get him back.

Not that he would let that happen.

Sam and Vision join them in the jet, completing their team. “I found nothing,” Sam says, taking his glasses off. A heavy silence stretches between them, everyone thinking of the disaster they called mission. Peter is now a match for Natasha. He managed to stand his ground against Steve and Bucky simultaneously and knock them out. He broke out of Vision’s grip. He can fight against Wanda’s magic. He knows how to temporarily turn off an Iron suit – and he’s loyal to their enemy.

“I think the best course of action would be to fly back to the compound and wait,” Vision eventually suggests, already walking towards the cockpit.

Tony wants to scream. He _hates_ waiting. Hasn’t he done enough of that already?

* * *

When the jet finally lands, Siegfried feels so much worse than a few hours ago. Everything hurts. _Everything_. Worst of all his head. It’s still throbbing, feeling like someone took a wedge hammer and keeps on hitting the spot right behind his eyes. And he’s exhausted. He would’ve fallen asleep in that jet if Schneider hadn’t called him to attention every few minutes, and the tingling in his neck jolting him awake whenever he closed his eyes for longer than two seconds.

Wolkow and Schneider escort him to the debriefing room, which is a nice way of saying they each grab one of his arms and basically drag him there. Siegfried likes to think that they do it because he looks like he would fall asleep otherwise. He knows that’s not the reason, though. Thomas is already in the room when they arrive. He looks livid.

“What happened?” he hisses, looking Siegfried up and down, almost like it’s his fault something went wrong.

(A booming laughter rings in his ears. Eyes full of love flash before his eyes. The deep yearning in his chest is back. Siegfried shakes his head to get rid of all of it.)

“They found us,” Schneider answers, surprising Siegfried by pushing him into a chair, giving him a short break. “We withdrew.”

“The witch got to him.”

“She did.”

Siegfried thinks he sees the red magic whirl around his feet, climbing up his body – but then he blinks and it’s gone. There has to be some kind of silent conversation between Schneider and Thomas, but Siegfried is too focused on staying awake to observe them.

“Siegfried, up,” Thomas orders in a sharp voice. Siegfried is on his feet before he can even process the words Thomas said to him. “We’re going to the chair.”

The usual gentle tingle in his neck turns into a sharp pain, forcing the tiredness out of his head.

“Can’t that wait until tomorrow? I’m really tired.”

“No, it can’t,” Thomas answers in a tone that could cut steel, grabbing his arm and pulling him with him. Siegfried wonders what happened to his usual gentle and empathic mentor, and decides that he is probably just worried about what Witch did to him. He can’t decide if that makes things better or worse. Thinking is really difficult right now.

Thomas is not gentle when he connects the electrodes to Siegfried’s head. He makes him drink two glasses of that weird drink, which Siegfried almost throws up. The tingle is still there, pushing through the drowsiness of the drink and his exhaustion, which is unusual.

When Thomas begins to talk to him about his memories, about his time with HYDRA, Siegfried can see the pictures he’s painting before his eyes – but there’s something off. Like something is lurking just at the edge of his consciousness, whispering that he should dig deeper on his own, that he shouldn’t trust every word Thomas tells him.

But Thomas would never lie to him, right?

_(Then a little more digging can’t hurt, right?)_

Siegfried thinks he sees a red whirl at some point, put it’s gone so fast, he can’t be sure.

By the time they finish, Siegfried is irritated and confused and so exhausted. Thomas says something to him, puts a hand on his shoulder, but he’s not listening. There’s the urge to shrug his hand off of him, but he doesn’t follow it. There has to be a reasonable explanation for this. Which is he’s just tired. A lot happened, he fought like he never fought before, a witch was inside his head – all of that takes it tolls. He just needs a full night of sleep and he will feel better in the morning. Telling himself that everything will be back to normal when he opens his eyes again, Siegfried falls back on his bed, not even bothering to take his dirty clothes off, and is asleep the second his head hits the pillow.

* * *

He stands in the middle of a whirlwind of red light that clears as quickly as it appears. Suddenly, he’s climbing up stairs – a lot of them. Breathing gets more difficult and his throat feels unusually parched; he’s been doing this for a while. He can hear cars outside, driving down the street and honking at careless pedestrians. People are talking and laughing, a dog barks, he thinks there’s a fire siren somewhere.

Finally, he reaches the top of the stairs, turning right into a hallway, pulling out a key and opening one of the many doors. “May, Ben!” he screams, sliding the backpack from his shoulder to the ground and kicking his shoes off, “I’m home!”

“There he is!” A man steps into the hallway, grinning from ear to ear, excitement radiating off him. He can’t help but smile back, feeding off the man’s good mood. “C’mon, we’ve got something for you.”

“A puppy?” he asks, even though he knows it’s a no. He’s been asking for a puppy for years, and, yes, okay, their landlord doesn’t allow pets, but what about keeping the puppy a secret from the landlord? Nobody has to know!

“Not quite,” a woman answers as he and the man – Ben, he somehow knows – step into the kitchen. There’s the lingering smell of burned food that is as comforting to him as the smell of her shampoo. The woman – May – solemnly pushes an envelope into his hands, her wide grin matching the one on Ben’s face. “This arrived for you today.”

A bit confused, he takes it, his eyes flying over his name and the address in Queens on the front, before turning it around and looking at the return address. His eyes widen and he feels his own grin forming on his face. “No way! It’s from Midtown!”

“Yeah, we know!” Ben laughs at his enthusiasm. “Open it, we’re dying to know what they have to say.”

He rips the envelope open, careful not to rip the actual letter inside, and shakes it open, his eyes quickly scanning the lines. When he looks up again, there’s no way he can hide the grin on his face. “I got accepted!”

May screams in delight, pulling him into a tight hug and pressing kiss after kiss to his head. “I knew it! They would’ve been stupid to reject you! I’m so proud of you, sweetie.”

His chest aches in a good way, like it’s too small to hold all of the love and happiness he’s feeling. “Thanks, May.”

“This calls for a celebration,” Ben announces after releasing him from his own hug. “Pizza or Thai?”

“Why not both?”

“Smart thinking. Who needs a healthy diet, anyway, when you’ll be going to Midtown after the summer?”

He only laughs, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Brown curls untamable, brown eyes shining full of joy, framed by the big glasses with the black rims, and a geeky graphic t-shirt.

* * *

With a gasp, he sits up in his bed, sweat forming on his forehead, heart thundering in his chest, and tears filling his eyes.

He is Peter Parker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, I was kinda emotional when I wrote the ending because I got quite attached to Siegfried. Yes, I know he and Peter are literally the same person, but still... it felt like a goodbye. 
> 
> If you have a spare second, please let me know what you think about this chapter or maybe what's going to happen next. I would love to know your thoughts and I'm not a mind reader, so we have to do this the old fashioned way.


	4. Peter Parker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, it’s painfully clear what Peter has to do. There’s only one place he can get the answers he’s looking for. That apartment in Queens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! :)
> 
> Thank you so much everyone who left me a comment! ❤ I love reading them and I especially loved hearing all of your theories about what might happen next. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

He sits in his bed, unmoving except for his rapidly rising and falling chest.

He isn’t Siegfried Möller.

He is Peter Parker.

The next thing he – _Peter_ – knows, he’s crouching over the toilet, violently throwing up everything that’s in his stomach and then some. He’s retching until his throat burns and there’s not even any fluid left for him to throw up. His entire body is shaking, and he slumps to the cold ground, his arms unable to hold up his weight.

Peter Parker.

That’s him.

He is Peter Parker.

Tears spring into his eyes, but he doesn’t bother suppressing them, even though HYDRA agents don’t cry. Peter doesn’t have his entire memory back, no, not at all. In fact, besides the memory from his dream, he has no other memories from Peter Parker. But he knows that memory is real. Deep down, it feels more right than anything else he knows. Peter would rather believe that one plus one equals six than believe that memory is false.

Which means he isn’t Siegfried.

Which means the last two years have been a lie.

An angry sob rips out of his throat, and he smashes his hand against something, trying to give all his anger and grief some outlet. The toilet bowl shatters under the force, sending pieces of porcelain across the room.

Thomas _lied_ to him. For two years. Over and over again, almost daily, he told him that he would never lie to him. But he did. Constantly.

Peter jumps to his feet, turning the faucet on, and splashing cold water in his face. He needs to focus. Whatever he’s going to do now, he has to have a clear head for it. After taking three deep, not-really-calming breaths, he looks up into the mirror. Brown curls, brown eyes – undoubtedly the same face he’s seen in his dream, minus the glasses and with sharper features.

His entire world is turned upside down, but there are two things he knows for sure.

His name is Peter Parker. Whether he’s the same Peter Parker the Avengers know is not clear.

Everyone lied to him. He’s not sure to what extent they lied – is HYDRA still his family? Were his parents really agents? Does Thomas actually care for him? Peter doesn’t know. In fact, he has to assume the worst and expect that everything has been a lie.

Suddenly, it’s painfully clear what Peter has to do. There’s only one place he can get the answers he’s looking for. That apartment in Queens. The address is burned into his mind. The man and the woman – their names already wiped from his memory, no matter how much he tries to catch these details of that dream – can answer his questions for sure. And he trusts them completely. He knows that like he knows his name is Peter Parker.

With this new goal in mind, Peter walks back into his room. He needs a plan, a good one. Getting out of the hideout will most likely not be easy. He’s never tried escaping before – it has never even crossed his mind – but he’s pretty sure that they’ll try to stop him. Schneider is obviously the biggest problem, followed by Wolkow. Thomas isn’t a fighter – Peter noticed that as soon as Schneider told him about what to look out for if you’re trying to figure out who you’re up against. However, his emotional connection to Thomas is the strongest. Even merely thinking about him lets another wave of rage loose in Peter’s chest.

Sneaking out it is. Or attempting to, at least.

Peter makes a quick check of what he has. His clothes from the mission are dark and thick, perfect for the cold weather and sneaking around at night. After a quick assessment of the garments, he finds no tracking devices. That would’ve put a quick stop to his escape. The other agents always take all his weapons from him after debriefing – besides the little knife he got from Schneider and his web shooters, at least this time. Hurried, Peter rummages through his drawers before realizing that it’s useless. They’re in a new hideout. They wouldn’t have bothered to bring his web fluid from his old room. He quickly checks the little cannulas in the devices around his wrist. They’re a bit more than halfway full, but he has two spare ones in one of the pockets on his belt.

He’s ready.

However, Peter hesitates. Is he really ready to leave the place – the people – he called home? He may not be Siegfried Möller, but what if they have a reason to lie to him? What if something traumatic happened and they just want to spare him any pain? And going outside? On his own? Peter hasn’t done that before. They told him it would be too dangerous, not only because of his faulty memory but because people would realize he’s different than them. If he left the hideout, Peter would basically be on his own, not sure if there’s anybody willing to help him, without any protection.

The thought scares him. So much, he almost throws his plan out of the window.

But then he remembers the burning feeling of love and longing in his chest. That apartment in Queens has been his home. He knows that. And he’s so tired of everyone around him feeding him memories, demanding he accepts them. Peter wants to find out what’s true and what’s a lie on his own.

Without looking back, he steps out of the room he’s called home for only a few hours, and sneaks into the hallway. Peter is light on his feet, ears straining for any sounds around him, any warning sign that someone is approaching him. However, the hall is empty. After all, it is the middle of the night and even HYDRA agents need to sleep and recharge.

Peter makes it halfway to the exit before he hears voices and everything gets complicated. The voices start out as soft murmurs, and he hesitates before tiptoeing further, trying to figure out whoever is up this late and if they would stop him. He should’ve just taken a different route, because he recognizes the voices and a chill runs down his spine. Thomas and Schneider.

His mind comes to a halting stop, and he freezes. There’s a part of him that knows he has to move on. Peter can clearly sneak past them – but his feet aren’t moving. Those two men have been the closest persons, maybe even friends, to him in the last two years. And they lied to him.

_I am your trainer, not a storyteller._

That word makes a lot more sense now. Peter can’t concentrate on their words, can’t find it in himself to translate the German. His heart is thundering, blood rushing in his ears, tears born out of anger and hurt spring into his eyes. There’s this urge in him to do something, to confront them, to let them know his anger; but that would be the stupidest thing to do. Still, the urge is there, making his fingers twitch in anticipation.

He’s so trapped in his own mind and feelings that he doesn’t hear someone approaching him before it’s too late to hide. There’s a split second of warning, a sharp tingle in his neck, but it’s not enough for Peter to put himself together before he hears a very familiar voice behind him. “Siegfried,” Wolkow says, “what are you doing here?”

_Siegfried_.

A blinding hot fire starts in his chest. He’s not Siegfried. And he would bet… whatever he owns that Wolkow knows that. Forgetting his plan to sneak out of the building – it’s too late for that now anyway – Peter turns around, facing the other agent. For a second, Wolkow just looks at him, slowly narrowing his eyes, sensing that something is off. Peter balls his hands into fists, Wolkow’s eyes flickering down to them. At once, his entire posture changes, falling into a defensive stance. “Answer me, Siegfried.”

“No,” he hisses. Peter is not quite sure what he’s saying no to: the order or the name. Probably both.

Wolkow’s eyes twitch and Peter knows the agent’s figured it out. He draws his gun, as quick as always, but Peter anticipated that. He fires a web at the weapon, yanking it out of Wolkow’s hand and into his own, pointing it at the agent and holding it steady. They trained him well – they’re going to regret it, just like they will regret lying to him.

“Schneider!” Wolkow yells.

Peter hears the hurried footsteps, hears the door open and both them stepping outside, but he doesn’t turn around. Schneider most likely has a gun already trained on him. For a second, nothing happens, all of them standing in the hallway and waiting for someone to make a move.

Thomas is the one who takes the initiative, his voice as sweet and smooth as honey. “What is going on here? Why are you up, Siegfried? You should rest.”

“No,” Peter says again, voice hard, even though his heart is beating in his throat. Thomas lied to him. He _still_ lies to him. And that hurts. A lot.

“Siegfried-“

“It is not Siegfried,” Schneider interrupts him. Peter doesn’t know how he figured it out, doesn’t know what detail gave it away – maybe him pointing a gun at his comrade – but he can’t really say he’s surprised by it.

Tension fills the space between them, turning the air into something that threatens to suffocate Peter if he doesn’t do something. “You lied to me,” he eventually said. His voice starts to get shaky because of all the emotions fighting for dominance inside him, but his hand is steady. “For two years, you lied to me.”

“Why would you think that?” Thomas’s voice is light, soft, caring – but Peter can’t shake the feeling that it’s fake. Have his concern and love for him ever been real? “You know I would never lie to you.”

Those words feel worse than getting stabbed in the stomach repeatedly. And Peter knows what that feels like.

“My name is Peter,” he says, tears already welling up in his eyes again. Wolkow stares at him, face blank, waiting for him to make a mistake.

Thomas doesn’t answer. The tingle in his neck turns into a vibration, shooting down his spine and into his arm, moving his body just in time as a shoot rings through the air. Peter’s eyes are still locked on the agent before him, but one hand flies behind his head, catching something that would otherwise have penetrated his skull. He knows what that something is – it’s not that difficult to figure out. With new rage spreading inside his body, he opens his hand and lets the bullet fall to the ground.

The next thing happens in a matter of seconds. Peter shoots Wolkow. He doesn’t kill him (he doesn’t want to kill ever again, doesn’t want to hear the screams of terrified children, doesn’t want to see lifeless bodies on the floor, doesn’t want to feel that darkness that’s eating away his organs), but shoots his thigh, sending him tumbling to the ground. Blood is rushing out of the wound, and if Wolkow wants to survive, he has to get medical treatment _now_. Peter bets on the hope that Wolkow values his own life more than whatever kind of experiment Peter has been.

Then, Peter turns around, dodging the other bullets Schneider sends his way, firing a web at Thomas and sticking him to the wall. Schneider pockets his gun, sensing that it’s useless, and charges at him – just like Peter suspected. When he swings his fist at Peter, he takes the punch, knowing it’ll leave an open for him. Quickly, he shoots a web at Schneider’s bare skin. For the fraction of a second, Peter can see the realization in Schneider’s eyes and for the first time, he sees something like fear in them – then he presses the power source, electrocuting Schneider until he falls to the ground.

Peter hears their screams – screams for help, for someone to stop him, for him to come back – but he doesn’t dwell on that. It’s only a matter of time before they will catch up to him, so he has to make the best out of it. Suddenly disgusted by the gun in his hand, he throws it away just as he reaches the exit. Other agents are already behind him, trying to catch up; but he has one advantage.

The hideout is some bunker in the middle of a forest, hidden between all the trees, barely visible if you don’t know it’s there. Before setting even the tip of his toe onto the ground and possibly leaving any trace of where he’s going, Peter fires a web at a tree branch and flies into the air, swinging between them like a monkey. Then, when he’s out of the perimeter of all the surveillance cameras, he changes directions, going zig-zag and back and forth, creating a confusing pattern even if they did think about checking the trees for any clues.

Peter keeps swinging. He doesn’t know where he’s headed – well, he knows his destination is Queens in New York, but he doesn’t know where he is. Is he in the US? He’s more or less sure he’s somewhere in North America, but that’s it. As the sound of agents trying to catch up with him decreases until it eventually disappears completely, Peter tries not to think that this is the first time he’s out in the world on his own. That thought is terrifying, and he almost crashes into one of the trees.

In an instant, Peter realizes that he hates being alone.

He keeps on swinging, even though his body starts to protest. It’s cold, freezing even, ground and trees covered in a thick blanket of snow. Everything in him screams to stop, lay down, and just sleep, but Peter ignores it, only stopping to change the cannulas of web fluid when they run out. At some point, his stomach begins to grumble. Hunger is a constant companion of his, thanks to his abnormal genes, but he tries to ignore it now.

After hours and hours of swinging through the woods, there’s a road. For a second, Peter is completely overwhelmed by it, only able to stare at the tarred line on the ground. Then, he hears a vehicle approaching, the headlights breaking through the darkness of the early hours of the morning. It’s a truck, and Peter doesn’t even really think about what he’s doing when he flings himself at the roof of the container, sticking to the metal, his head bowed to protect him from the harsh wind. A new nervousness spreads inside him. He’s really doing this. He’s really running away from his home. Or whatever HYDRA is. Was.

For almost three hours, he lays on the truck, just waiting and holding still. Holding still is something Peter has never been good at. There’s too much energy coursing through his body for that. A bit after the sun rises into the sky, the truck starts to slow down, causing Peter to jump from the container back into the shelter of the woods around him. He can see a town sign not far down the road. Peter knows he should go there, find out where he is, which way he has to go to get to New York, and figure out a way to get there – but he’s nervous. What if anyone can see that he’s different? That he isn’t human? What if they attack?

His mind flashes back to his memory. The man and the woman smiling brightly at him, drowning him in hugs and kisses, smiles carved onto their faces – his chest so full of love that it threatened to explode. Peter couldn’t let something as trivial as fear stop him from getting back to that. Making sure that no one would see his knife or the web shooters, he starts walking down the road. Getting to the town doesn’t take long. All the signs are in English, so that’s something. He passes a small diner that’s open 24 hours. The delicious smell escaping through the door and the vents makes his stomach rumble in pain and his mouth water. However, he has no money and stealing food or going through the trash would be pretty suspicious, the opposite of what he’s trying to be.

When he’s walking by a long row of houses, most of the residents are still asleep – or maybe not, judging by the aggressive shouting that’s coming from down the road. “-go, you asshole!”, a woman screams. Peter is close enough to make out details. The woman, looking like she’s in her late twenties, stands in the door, dressed in a thin dressing gown. A man about her age in clothes definitely too thin for the cold weather, stands on the sidewalk, looking more than a bit irritated.

“You can’t kick me out! I pay the mortgage for the house!”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about it before you slept with Brenda!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have blown your boss!”

Their shouting match continued, recounting the tales of who cheated with whom to the entire neighborhood, but Peter’s focus is somewhere else. The gate of their garage is wide open, giving him a perfect view of the motorbike – and the door that leads into the house. Keeping a careful eye on the fighting couple – or maybe ex-couple? A part of Peter really hopes this will be the end of their relationship, no matter the mortgage or the cat they were going to adopt – he sneaks closer, staying hidden in the shadows of the other houses.

“Bitch!” the man yells, before turning around and stomping down the walkway, lighting up a cigarette on his way.

“Don’t you dare to come back here!” she screeches after him, going back inside and slamming the door shut. Peter is quick to dart into the garage, just as the gate starts to close. For a moment, he just stays there, listening to whatever happens inside the house. The woman is on her phone, talking to a friend; not Brenda, judging by the excessive amount she’s complaining about her. There’s more rummaging, her walking through the entire house, doors being opened and then slammed shut – until she slams shut the front door, leaving the house eerily quiet after her rampage.

Peter takes a second to collect himself and slow down his racing heart, before pulling his sleeve over his hand and carefully turns the knob of the door that leads into the house. It’s open. The house is blissfully warm after his hours in the cold, prickling his skin in an effort to warm him up. He doesn’t wait for that, though. There’s a laptop on the kitchen table, a website with kittens to adopt open. Ignoring the kittens – no matter how cute they are – Peter opens a new tab, goes to Google maps and finds himself the quickest route to Queens, memorizing it immediately. It’s actually not that far away, only a few hours by car. Or motorbike, in Peter’s case.

Working on autopilot, he deletes his search history and wipes down the keyboard, erasing any fingerprints. In the kitchen, he grabs an apple, hungrily devouring it in a matter of minutes before looking for clothes from the man. An all black outfit is a bit suspicious, and there’s this paranoid fear in the back of his head that they sewed a tracker in his clothes.

(He ignores the thought that they maybe put a tracker somewhere inside _him_.)

After changing into jeans, a thick, dark red hoodie, and a jacket for motorbikes, as well as pocketing a worn baseball cap, Peter sees a wallet lying on a table by a closet. Trying to ignore the guilt that’s telling him to stop, he pulls out a couple of bills, shoving them into the pocket of his jeans, before pulling a notepad close and writing with his left hand:

_Sorry, this is an emergency. I will get everything back to you!_

For a second, he hesitates, but then signs it with a _P_. He’s not Siegfried anymore.

Grabbing a helmet and pulling it over his head, he steps back into the garage, opening the door and pushing the machine out into the open. Thankfully, the neighborhood is still quiet, everyone hopefully back to sleep after the drama of the couple was over. Peter hasn’t ridden a motorbike often, but Schneider always made sure he practiced. With the hope that he’s one step closer to finding out the truth about who he is, he speeds down the road, leaving the small town behind him without a second thought.

On his way to Queens, Peter stops once to get more gas and a sandwich, speaking Russian to the clerk behind the counter, complaining about people complaining about the weather. The clerk doesn’t seem to find anything unusual about him, laughing about his complaints, and answering back in Russian, gushing about his life back in Russia. He’s spending less than five minutes at the gas station before driving off again.

When Peter arrives in Queens, it feels kind of surreal. It’s around midday, people are filling the streets, not sparing him a second glance, minding their own business. Peter parks the motorbike between some other vehicles, hoping nobody would question its presence there. When he pulls off the helmet, it’s almost too much for him. He’s never been to a city this big, and all the impressions – the noises, the lights, the smells – are almost overwhelming, making it incredibly difficult to concentrate on something.

And yet, something is so familiar about it. Yes, it’s a lot, but his senses almost adapt to all of it at once on their own.

Taking a deep breath and putting the baseball cap on, ignoring the light tremor in his hands because he’s so close, Peter starts walking, asking two young mothers with strollers about directions to the apartment, using a heavy Italian accent, claiming to be visiting some family and that he’s gotten lost. The women are quick to help him, one of them saying she’s been to Italy twice already (Peter isn’t sure why that information is important right now, but he just smiles), and with every step he takes towards the address, his heart is beating faster and faster, almost drowning out all the other noises around him.

The apartment building stands tall and proud at the side of the road, making Peter feel incredibly small as he looks up at it. His eyes lock onto the seventh floor, the one his apartment is located on. He takes a few shaky steps forward, stopping in front of the door. Would they be there? Would they swallow him in a hug, just like in his memory? Would they smile those smiles that fill him with a warm, mushy feeling?

Peter looks at the doorbell panel, searching for the right apartment – and freezes. He finds the apartment easy enough. But the name tag reads Gracia, not Parker. His heart crushes, turning into dust, a nauseous feeling taking over, almost making him throw up right there on the stairs.

It’s not Parker. He’s been wrong.

His dream hadn’t been a memory, just a fabrication of his imagination, probably fueled by the witch’s magic. And he left his home. There’s no way HYDRA would take him back. He almost killed Wolkow (at least he hopes it’s almost), he electrocuted Schneider, he attacked Thomas – he fought against the only people who accepted him. And for what? For a stupid dream.

Maybe he really is Siegfried. And alone.

Taking a shaky breath, he runs his fingers over the piece of paper that’s glued to the doorbell. Just when the tears start to well up in his eyes (he’s so stupid and naïve, why would he trust a single memory more than the people who looked after him for all his _life_?!) the little piece of paper catches between his fingers, folding over, and revealing an old name tag underneath it.

A name tag with Parker on it. Peter’s heart rises from the ashes like a phoenix, reborn solely from the hope that flows through his veins because of this one word. His dream hasn’t been wrong, it has been a memory.

But his new hope is quickly stifled. The only people who could answer his questions have moved, and he has no clue where to. They could be anywhere – in Queens, in New York, in the country, in the _world_. He would never find them.

Just when he feels all his doubt and insecurities taking over again, Peter gets another idea. There hasn’t been only one address in his dream, there’s been another one. Midtown School of Science and Technology. With new determination, Peter skips down the few steps, finding a public map down the road, and finding his destination after a few seconds.

When he sets off to the school, Peter isn’t completely sure what he hopes to find. Maybe they have some files about him with a phone number or any other contact information? Anything that would help him find people with answers about him. During his journey to Midtown, Peter takes in all the new expressions around. There’s the constant busy energy around him, everyone moving around and talking and doing something – it’s very different from what he knows from all the hideouts. He basks in the energy, feeding off of it, his steps suddenly lighter.

Peter decides that he likes the city. A lot.

Spotting the school is easy, there’re enough signs around to assure everyone who passes the building that, yes, this is indeed Midtown School of Science and Technology. He just stands there for a moment, looking up at the building and trying to make sense of what he’s feeling. There’s the nervousness – a lot of nervousness. He’s about to find out who he really is; that’s the best-case scenario, at least. But the worst-case scenario? They have nothing on a Peter Parker. No file, no anything. Maybe they destroyed it, maybe they never had a Peter Parker – maybe the dream really has been Witch’s work, convincing enough to make him question everything he believed in. Oh no, he has made a terrible mistake, hasn’t he? What if –

“Peter Parker?”

He falls into a fighting stance before he can really process the words, one hand on the knife hidden in his belt, the other over the trigger of his web shooter. Peter turns his head, eyes narrowing on the man before him, immediately looking for clues what kind of fighter he’s up against – and he’s stunned by what he’s seeing.

There’s a man standing a couple of feet next to him, early thirties, a scruffy brown beard, short brown hair that’s covered under a somewhat old-fashioned hat, and thin-rimmed glasses. He’s tall and lanky, and there’s something uncoordinated and clumsy about him, like you can basically see the bag sliding from his shoulder at one wrong movement, and him trying to catch it and failing, everything that’s in the bag spilling on the ground while he apologizes for it.

Everything about him screams harmless. It throws Peter completely off. He has rarely met someone so… incompetent to fight. And he means that in the best way possible, because without really realizing it, he feels safe, dropping his hands and shoulders, forgetting that he should look for any clues as to what his opponent is going to do next.

The man doesn’t notice Peter’s aggressiveness and then sudden lack of aggression. Instead he steps closer, wide eyed, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Peter, it’s you, isn’t it?” Peter doesn’t say anything, heart beating in his throat. He has no memory of this man, which isn’t really unexpected to him, but something makes him hesitate. “It’s me, Mr. Harrington. Your old teacher.”

His old teacher. Someone who knows him.

“I-,” Peter starts, not really knowing what he wants to say.

Mr. Harrington steps closer to him, eyes full of concern and worry. If Schneider were here, he would scoff about the open display of emotion. One more reason why Peter likes Mr. Harrington. “Peter, where have you been? You’ve been gone for two years. What happened? Are you okay?”

Peter’s head is spinning. He’s been gone for two years – and two years ago, he woke up in his first HYDRA hideout with no memories. Two years ago, Thomas told him his name is Siegfried. Bile climbs up his esophagus.

The teacher is still looking at him, obviously expecting an answer. Somehow, Peter manages to croak out, “I don’t know.”

“You-you don’t know? What do you mean?”

“I can’t remember anything.” It’s not a complete lie, but not the entire truth either.

Mr. Harrington looks really alarmed, and it pulls a string on Peter’s heart that someone who he doesn’t even really know is so openly concerned about him. “You don’t remember?” Peter shakes his head. “Anything at all?” He shakes his head again. Mr. Harrington looks like he’s about to have a panic attack, and the urge to comfort him, to let him know that’s actually not _that_ bad, overcomes Peter, but he keeps his mouth shut. “Okay. Okay, uhm… What about your-… Oh no. Oh _no_ , she’s not here anymore.”

The thoughts are racing in Mr. Harrington’s head as he tries to look as calm and collected as he could. He fails miserably at that. Peter just stands there, observing him. Who had he been talking about? Who isn’t here anymore? Did someone die?

Finally reaching some conclusion, Mr. Harrington looks back at him, a small, nervous smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes. “How about you come inside? You look like you’re freezing. I can make you some hot cocoa, and then we can think about the next step.”

Schneider taught him to never go to a place he’s unfamiliar with with someone he doesn’t know – especially when that someone knows the place. There’re too many opportunities for a hidden attack or a trap or whatever. But Peter doubts that the teacher could do anything that would harm him, so he nods and follows Mr. Harrington who turns around and walks back to the school, adjusting the strap of his bag that slid off his shoulder.

Mr. Harrington is a nervous talker. For the entire walk, he talks about his wife Tabitha who’s a poet and who is so focused on writing her poetry that she moved to a different apartment. In a different city. In another state. Three years ago. And hasn’t called him since. Peter wants to tell him that her writing is probably not the reason why she’s not back yet, but he doesn’t want to crush the optimism in Mr. Harrington’s voice.

He leads them to a small office with his nametag on the door, and once inside – after Mr. Harrington fumbled with finding the right key – Peter doesn’t really know what to focus on. There are the usual binders and books you would expect in a teacher’s office (science books, Peter notices with delight), a graduation certificate from Culver University on the wall, an electric kettle in one corner with a mug with a photo of Mr. Harrington and a woman who doesn’t really look that happy on it, and a lot of photos of students in big, yellow blazers. Despite the ill-fitting blazers, all the students look happy, smiling brightly in the camera, one of them always holding a trophy.

Before Peter can get a better look at the pictures, Mr. Harrington basically pushes him into a not-really-comfortable chair while he rounds his desk, preparing a mug of cheap hot cocoa, the kind you get for less than two bucks and just pour hot water over, (but Mr. Harrington makes an effort and dumps a few stale mini marshmallows in, grinning like he just discovered a scientific breakthrough), all the while explaining that he can’t drink coffee because the caffeine makes him _hyperactive_. Peter just nods along, accepting the lukewarm mug that’s put in front of him.

“I just-… have to make a quick phone call,” Mr. Harrington excuses himself, stepping back into the hallway and a bit away from the door, thinking Peter wouldn’t hear him. Which might have been true if Peter would be a normal human being; but since he’s not, he can hear everything the teacher says. “Hello, this is Mr. Harrington from-, yeah, exactly. I’m glad you remember me. Well, I guess it hasn’t been that long. Anyway, I still have your phone number from the last trip, and there’s a… situation. I think. Are you still at school or- Perfect. Do you think you could stop by?” There’s a pause, and Peter takes a sip of the hot cocoa. There has been no hot cocoa in HYDRA, and despite the artificial and overly sweet taste, he likes it. And the beverage at least tries to get rid of the cold that nested in his body. 

Mr. Harrington takes a sharp breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s- it’s Peter. Peter Parker. Yes, I am serious. He’s sitting in my office right now.” Another pause. Peter watches the marshmallows float through the brown water, wondering who he’s talking to. Maybe the people from his dream? “I would’ve called her, but- yes, exactly. I was wondering if you have any way of- no?” The disappointment in his voice is almost heartbreaking. “I have to admit, I have no idea what to do. He says he doesn’t remember anything and- didn’t I mention that? No, he seems to have lost his memory. He doesn’t remember who I am. I thought about calling an ambulance but he doesn’t seem injured and- oh, really? Yes, of course. _Thank you_. I’ll make sure he’s still here.”

The teacher doesn’t return immediately, taking the time to collect himself, and simultaneously giving Peter enough time to chuck down half of the mug, thinking about ways to escape this. Mr. Harrington obviously doesn’t want him here, the phone call made that very clear. And Peter doesn’t want to burden anyone with looking after him. But the room has no windows, the only exit the door they came through. He has no way of escaping without being discovered.

Which would be so ironic. Peter escaped some of the best trained agents in the world – but fails to sneak past a High School teacher.

Just when he throws the rest of the now cold beverage down his throat to hopefully drown the feeling of being a burden, Mr. Harrington returns, the nervous smile back, but he does seem a bit more at ease. “I see you liked it?” he comments when he notices the empty cup. Peter only nods, words stuck in his throat. “Some people say it doesn’t taste as good if you only add water to it, but I beg to differ.” Not knowing how to respond to that statement, Peter only gives a vague answer.

Mr. Harrington settles back into his chair. A tense silence fills the room. Peter thinks if he darts out of the door right now, he will probably be able to escape before whoever the teacher called would arrive. But something keeps him sitting there. Something tells him that Mr. Harrington is not someone he has to run away from.

“And you really don’t remember anything?”

The question has been predictable, but it still takes Peter by surprise. “I know my name is Peter Parker,” he answers before he can really think about it, “and I know I went to this school.”

A small, relieved smile appears on Mr. Harrington’s face. “That’s right. You were part of the Academic Decathlon team.” To prove his point, he gestures to one of the pictures on the wall. Indeed, Peter recognizes one of the students in the yellow blazers as himself. A younger version, at least. One that smiles brightly, eyes shining, hands thrown into the air in a gesture of triumph. There’s a lump in his throat that doesn’t move even an inch, no matter how many times he tries to swallow it down.

Mr. Harrington talks a lot. He tells him about some students Peter guesses were his classmates and what they’re doing now. Not one of the names rings a bell. There’d been a field trip to Europe, which had been a total disaster with flooded hotels and closed museums. One teacher retired. The school mascot attempted to step up his game and tried to do a somersault during a show, fell, and broke his leg. Peter doesn’t say anything in response, but that doesn’t bother the teacher.

About half an hour passes and Mr. Harrington is in the middle of retelling the tale of his (ex-)wife, when Peter hears footsteps hurrying down the hallway. At once, his entire posture goes rigid, telling him to get ready to fight, but then the door flies open, revealing a panting person leaning against the doorway, and every thought about fighting leaves his mind. The person is the boy who’s always next to him in all the pictures, only he’s a bit taller now, but beyond any doubt the same.

He seems strangely familiar, but Peter can’t quite put his finger on why that is.

“Peter?” he chokes out, big, wide eyes zeroing in on him. Peter only stares back, trying to make sense of the feeling of content and relief in his chest. 

Mr. Harrington jumps up from his chair, obviously happy to see the person. “Ned!” he greets the boy – Ned – and steps closer to him. “Thank you for coming here.” Ned only nods, eyes still not leaving Peter.

Slowly, Peter stands up, and the second he’s upright, Ned throws himself forward, engulfing him in an almost crushing hug. To his surprise, Peter doesn’t even think about classifying this as an attack. No, everything in him screams at him that this is the complete opposite of an attack. A bit hesitant, Peter wraps his arms around Ned. “Dude,” Ned whispers in a frail voice, just loud enough for him to hear, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers back, “but I don’t-“

“Peter doesn’t remember anything,” Mr. Harrington throws in, hoping to help clear the situation.

“Y-Yeah, you already said that,” Ned says after clearing his throat. His eyes are very glassy. “But don’t worry about it, I have a plan.” Ned’s hands are still on Peter’s shoulder as he turns around and reassures him: “Everything will be alright, Peter. I have a plan.”

Peter only nods. He wants to believe Ned. He feels like he can trust Ned – but he also thought he could trust Thomas and Schneider. Still, when Ned pushes him out of the room, Peter lets him. Mr. Harrington walks with them until the end of the hallway, rambling on, wishing them happy holidays, and whisper-asks Ned to keep him updated.

Ned doesn’t say anything to Peter until they’re out in the open again, a couple of feet away from the entrance – then, he hugs him again. This time, Peter is a bit quicker to return the hug, more to comfort Ned than himself. “Peter,” the boy gets out, “you’re back.”

“I don’t know who you are,” Peter finally admits, though there is that itch right behind his eyes that it’s not entirely true, that there’s something he should remember.

At once, Ned lets go of him, his face pulled into a grimace of pain. However, it disappears quickly, replaced by a weird kind of determination. “That’s fine.” His tone clearly says that it’s anything but fine. “I mean, it’s not your fault. Is it? Did you, like, bump your head or –“

“All I know,” Peter interrupts him, sensing a rambling coming, “is that my name is Peter. All my memories only go back two years ago, and… the people I’ve been staying with haven’t been honest with me.” Ned’s eyes go wide again and he whispers a _dude_. “But I got this memory, and I _know_ it’s true. I know the people in that memory won’t lie to me, so I need to find them.” Saying it out loud makes it sound stupid, Peter realizes. He left the place he called home for two years behind to chase after a memory that could have fabricated by Witch. The feeling that he made a horrible mistake comes clawing back.

Ned nods, not noticing Peter’s inner turmoil. “Yeah, of course. What memory was it?”

“I was in an apartment not far from here and got my acceptance letter for this school. A man and a woman were with me.” The second he said those words, Ned’s face twitches, the look of determination slipping from his face. Peter ignores it for now. “I stopped by that place, but I think they moved.”

“Aunt May and Uncle Ben.”

“Yes! Exactly!” he yells, suddenly remembering that particular detail from his dream. Peter is too drunk on the sudden rush of excitement to immediately notice that Ned is as far from excited as you could get. “Do you know where they are?”

Now, he sees Ned’s discomfort because it’s impossible to miss. The excitement leaves Peter’s body at once. “I… I don’t know how to say this, but… they’re not here.” Peter wants to say something, maybe demand more answers, maybe ask him to stop. He isn’t sure. “After you went missing two years ago, May left. She said she couldn’t stay in the city after everything that happened.”

“Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. Not quite sure if she told anyone at all.”

Peter can literally feel the chance to find his answers slipping through his fingers. “What-What about the man? Ben?” Ned looks absolutely heartbroken, and he doesn’t have to say the words for Peter to know what happened to the man. “Oh.”

They don’t talk on the way to the cemetery. Peter kind of expects Ned to ramble through the heavy tension between them, but he doesn’t. He only nudges him to the side, showing him where he has to go. There’s a numbness in Peter that is simultaneously foreign and familiar to him. The numbness keeps him from forming a reasonable thought, or holding on to it long enough to understand it. His body works on autopilot – walking down the street, sitting in the subway, climbing up and down some stairs.

Peter has never been to a cemetery. At least, he can’t remember ever going to one. HYDRA agents don’t get buried, that’s what Thomas said. That’s the reason why his parents don’t have any graves. Which has been a lie, too, because Peter now stands in front of three graves that he knows are from his relatives. He knows it like he knows his name is Peter Parker.

_Mary Teresa Parker_

_Richard Laurence Parker_

_Benjamin Franklin Parker_

Looking at those tombstones, images flash across his eyes. He’s been here before, quite often actually. First, only visiting the first two, but then the third one joined them. He’s spent hours sitting in front of them, either talking to the stones or finding comfort in the silence, no matter the time or weather.

They were his family. And they are all dead.

Peter doesn’t even realize he’s fallen to the ground until he feels the dirt underneath his hands, tears born from the overwhelming sadness that suffocates him spilling from his eyes. HYDRA agents don’t cry. But he’s not an agent. Not anymore. Ned kneels next to him, pulling him into a tight hug, as if he can hold Peter’s broken frame together if he just tries hard enough. Somehow, that only makes Peter cry harder.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but when his tears finally stop and he finds the energy in himself to take a deep breath, his hands are numb from the cold. Ned’s arms are still around him, his head lying on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I don’t know who you are,” Peter eventually croaks out, voice hoarse and broken from crying.

“I’m Ned Leeds, your best friend since you moved in with your uncle and aunt,” Ned explains, lifting his head. “Your parents died in a plane crash when you were around six. They were scientists.” A new wave of emotions crushes over Peter, but he presses his eyes together, forcing himself to stand against the feelings inside him. “We did almost everything together. Watched movies, played with Legos, studied for school.”

“I wish I could remember.” And Peter really wishes that. He never really had a friend in the hideouts. Thomas was more of a father, Schneider a teacher, and Wolkow… he could’ve been a friend.

A friend he shot without hesitation.

To his surprise, Ned lets go of him, grabbing his phone out of his pocket instead. “Okay, I know this is going to sound crazy but… like, four or five months after you went missing, I kept thinking that maybe you lost your memory somehow. Because that was the only logical explanation I could think of why you wouldn’t come back. And if you lost your memory, you clearly wouldn’t know who I am – so I made this. To, like, show you that we were friends.”

A bit dumbfounded, Peter takes the phone. There’s a folder labeled **Peter** , full of photos of him. They go years back, Peter with glasses that are too big for his face and Ned besides him, both of them missing teeth and grinning from ear to ear, playing with bright colored little bricks. They grow up together, getting taller, having all of their teeth again, but getting pimples instead. Sometimes, they take the pictures themselves, sometimes someone else had to take them. At one point, Peter’s glasses are gone. There are hundreds of those photos.

“I know it’s not the most convincing evidence,” Ned says as Peter still scrolls through all the pictures, “because it’s so easy to photoshop something these days, but, like… back then, I just thought it might be a good idea to collect them. I promise you they are real, Peter. I’ve even got a few of the old ones in a photo album at home.”

He stops at one picture in particular. It’s one of the newer ones. Ned holds the camera, smiling proudly and pointing to a model of a grey ball made of the little bricks. Peter is behind the ball, glasses missing from his face, grinning and giving the camera two thumbs up.

Suddenly, Peter remembers why Ned seemed so familiar. He had seen him the last two years. In his dreams. Thomas said he’d been a boy he had to con on an undercover mission. Another one of his lies.

Did Thomas ever tell him the truth? Just once?

Slowly, Peter looks at Ned. “I believe you,” he says. Of course, this could all be a plot to deceive him. The pictures could be fake. Ned could be lying. These gravestones could be fake. But he’s accepted the lies of Thomas for years – what difference would it make to believe some more lies?

Ned is visibly relieved to hear his words. “For real? Oh man, I don’t-… I don’t know what to say. I’m so happy you’re back, Peter.”

Peter shakes his head. “I still don’t know who I am. But I want to find out.” He _needs_ to find out. “I need to find May.”

This time, instead of being devastated, Ned starts to think, nodding slowly as he tries to come up with a plan. “Well, I don’t know where she is. I think she took a flight to Africa to work there, but she could be anywhere at this point.” In that moment, Peter is pretty certain he would search the entire world to find some answers for his questions. “But I think our best shot of finding her would be asking Mr. Stark about it.”

The itch behind his eyes is back.

“Who?”

Ned’s eyes widen again to the point that he actually looks quite ridiculous. “ _Dude_. You don’t know?” Peter gives him a pointed look. “Right. You don’t remember anything. I just kinda… I thought you might remember him. You two were really close.”

“Who is Mr. Stark?”

“Tony Stark. Iron Man.” Ned looks at him like he’s expecting Peter to suddenly remember everything, like he suddenly has an epiphany about this Tony Stark, but there’s nothing. “Here, let me show you. I’ve got tons of pictures of you two together.” Before Peter can even start to unpack that sentence, Ned plugs the phone out of his hands, scrolling way down in the folder, finding what he’s looking for and giving it back to him. “That’s him.”

Peter can only stare at the photo. It’s him, the glasses-less version of him, sitting on a couch, mid-laugh, and leaning against a man who wears a wide grin, joy sparkling in his eyes, and flashes a peace-sign into the camera.

The man is Robot Man. There’s no doubt about it. Tony Stark is Robot Man.

Peter feels dizzy. The entire world around him starts to spin. Breathing gets difficult. Seeing this picture feels like a punch into the stomach. No, like someone ripped his chest open and took his heart. He doesn’t know why it feels like this, it just does. His mind starts to connect dots, starts to connect things that didn’t make any sense before – things Peter doesn’t want to think about because it makes the entire situation _so much_ worse.

“We… were close?” Peter has to clear his throat twice before the words come out.

Ned nods. “Super close, actually. After Ben died, he kinda became like a father to you.” Those words feel like another punch to his stomach. “And there’s the entire Spider-Man-thing, so-“

Peter whips his head around so fast, he almost gets whiplash. His heart stops beating for a long moment. “Wh-What did you just stay?”

For a split second, Ned looks confused, before his eyes grow big again. “ _Dude_ , did you forget that you’re –“

Peter shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear Ned call him a freak or an abomination. “No, I know what I am. But you know about it?”

“Of course, I do! I’m your best friend, and your guy in the chair. I helped you catch a really bad dude once. He had wings and wanted to steal a plane from Mr. Stark. You stopped him. Which was awesome. And totally scary, but also _really_ awesome.”

“And… he knew about me being… this, too?”

“Yeah, he made you an awesome suit and taught you, like, so much stuff. Not only about being a superhero, but about science and engineering, too. You hung out with him and the other Avengers all the time. Honestly, you were living the life of every superhero fan out there.”

Peter doesn’t know what to think. His mind is a mess. His feelings are an even bigger mess. All he wants is some clarity, but that seems impossible.

Ned is silent for a few minutes, letting him try to process everything he just learned about. “Peter, I really think we should call Mr. Stark. He’s been looking for you like crazy.” Yeah, and he found him. He’s probably the one who told Witch to go into his head. Peter can’t decide how he feels about that. “I can call him – well, not him, I don’t have his phone number, but I have his former bodyguard’s number for emergencies, and I would say this is one, and then-“

“No.” Despite all the craziness inside him, Peter is sure about this one thing. “Don’t call him. Please,” he adds as an afterthought as he sees Ned’s shocked expression. “I just…” He can’t find the words to describe what he’s feeling. A part of him wants to tell him that he needs more time to progress all of this, everything he just learned. But he wants to find May, wants to find answers to who he is. The one person who can find May seems to be Tony Stark.

And yet Peter really doesn’t want to see him. Not while he’s still in denial about how deep Thomas’ betrayal really went. “I don’t want to see him right now.”

“Are you sure?” Peter nods. To his surprise, Ned actually looks relieved about it, a small smile pulling at his lips for a fraction of a second before he tries – and fails – to school his features. “I mean, if you don’t want me to call him-“ he waits, as if he expects Peter to scream that he’s just kidding and tell him to go get that Mr. Stark. To make sure that that’s not happening, Peter shakes his head. Ned deflates a little bit, a hint of worry shining in his eyes. “Well, then I won’t call him. Today, at least. But… maybe tomorrow? Or in a few days?” he adds quickly as Peter stiffens.

“Yeah, maybe,” he answers. It’s probably inevitable if Mr. Stark’s really the only one who can find May. However, he needs to have a plan first. He needs to find out why he’s feeling the way he is, what of the last two years has been fabricated – and how they fabricated it. 

Ned asks: “But… are you going to stay in the city?” Not sure where any of this is going, Peter nods hesitantly. “Uh, so… I don’t know if you have a place to stay or anything, but you’re welcome to crush at my place. Well, my family’s place. Like, you’re very welcome to stay there.”

Again, a warning that sounds a lot like Schneider urges him to decline the offer, to find a safe hiding place by himself. Simply because of that reason, Peter says: “I would love to.”

The grin that splits Ned’s face and the happy tears shining in his eyes are the reason that Peter feels he made the right decision.

On their way to Ned’s home, Ned keeps showing him the pictures from his Peter folder, retelling him their adventures. He tells Peter about how they met and bonded over building space ships and reenacting their favorite movies. Ned nearly has a stroke when Peter says he doesn’t know what Star Wars is, and makes a vow that they will definitely watch them that night. They once secretly bought a pet lizard when they were twelve, but he escaped and they are convinced he lives somewhere in the sewer, so they mumble a soft _Hi_ whenever they pass a gully cover. They had been camping once which had been a completely traumatic experience, and they swore to never leave the city again. He tells him about the time they spend an entire weekend at the Parker apartment unsupervised, eating nothing but candy, staying up way too late, and getting seriously sleep deprived.

Peter wishes he could remember those stories. They sound amazing.

Then, Ned shows him a picture of both of them with a girl besides them who only scowls into the camera. She’s been in the pictures in Mr. Harrington’s office, too. There’s something about her that catches Peter’s eye.

“That’s, uh, MJ,” Ned says a bit awkwardly. “Michelle Jones. But MJ for short.”

“Is she our friend?”

“Y-Yeah, I would say so.” Peter raises an eyebrow as Ned starts to blush. “You guys were kinda, like, together. Y’know, dating and stuff. Well, you would’ve been, but before you could like, officially ask her out, you disappeared.”

Peter doesn’t really know how to feel about that. But he has the feeling that there’s another detail he’s missing. Something he should remember. “Is she still here?”

“She’s going to Dartmouth now, got a full-scholarship there. But I think she’ll probably come back for the holidays to visit her family.” Ned grimaces. “Uh, I don’t know how to say this, but, uh… last I heard she has a boyfriend. Someone from Dartmouth, too.”

“Oh,” is all Peter says. He doesn’t know what to feel. He’s not angry or jealous – after all, he has no right to feel that way. Ned said they weren’t officially together, and he’s been gone for two years. Isn’t it natural to move on? Isn’t that the healthy thing?

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Ned clearly doesn’t believe that. “I’m fine, honestly. It’s not like I remember her.” It’s meant as a light-hearted joke but it misses the mark by far.

When they start walking down the street, Ned points out different corners and places, continuing to tell him stories and weird little details. The stories still don’t make his memories reappear, but they distract him from the potential heartbreak he’s feeling. He also tells him about the school he’s now going to, MIT. According to Ned, they had plans to go there together, share a room, and revolutionize science. Those plans came to a screeching stop when he disappeared, of course. “But it can still happen,” Ned tells him, his excitement dripping from every pore of his body, “you’re back and MIT just has to accept you! They would be so stupid if they wouldn’t, and they aren’t stupid, because they’re MIT.”

Peter nods, and tries to imagine the scene Ned is painting.

(He’s not sure if something like going to school with his friend is really possible for him anymore.)

The Leeds family cries when Peter steps into their apartment. Mrs. Leeds does the best job at keeping her tears at bay, only two or three escaping her eyes. Mr. Leeds, however, openly cries, pressing Peter against himself like he’s a long-lost son. Ned’s younger sister doesn’t manage to get a single word out, still trying to progress what her brother is telling them. Ned tells his family a short version of what happened; that Mr. Harrington called him because Peter suddenly showed up at Midtown, and that he’s staying with them until they can figure out where May is. They accept the story without asking any questions, saying they should celebrate that he’s back by ordering an absurd amount of food.

Staying with the Leeds is very different than the structural order of life in the HYDRA hideouts. There’s laughter and hugs (Peter likes hugs, he realizes after he gets fifteen hugs in the span of twenty minutes), and talking during dinner, and smiles, and showing him pictures, and Mrs. Leeds running a hand through his hair in an affectionate gesture that makes Peter’s heart ache so much tears almost spring to his eyes.

This family is nothing like the family he has been living with for the last two years.

After dinner, Ned and Peter watch Star Wars. Peter _loves_ Star Wars. The second the first movie starts, an unfamiliar excitement takes over his body, making him grin like an idiot and just happy. They stuff popcorn in their faces even though they just had dinner. Ned films his reaction when Peter finds out that Darth Vader is Luke’s father. When he finds out that there are even more movies after watching the third one, Peter almost demands that they watch those, too. But it’s quite late and his friend – yes, _friend_ , Peter is absolutely sure that Ned is his friend – is already half asleep, so he drops it.

Unlike Ned who’s fast asleep after only a few minutes, Peter can’t sleep at all. He lays on the mattress they carried in the room, staring at the ceiling, and listens. Ned’s heartbeat and his soft breathing, the breathing of the other members of the Leeds family, the cars outside, the people walking down the street, a dog barking at something – there’s so much to hear.

Then, of course, there’s his inner crisis. Now, without the distraction of a loving family and the most amazing movies ever made (not that he really watched that many movies), everything that happened in the last 48 hours comes back to him.

Thomas lied to him.

And the worst part?

Peter thinks nothing about Thomas has been real. He dyed his hair. He scratched his beard like it was bothering him. He allowed Peter to work with him in the lab even though he clearly preferred to work alone. No one has ever called him Thomas besides Peter.

When Peter first saw Mr. Stark, he thought he looked a lot like Thomas – but what if it was the other way around? What if the feeling of home and safety he always got when he looked at Thomas wasn’t because he knew him since he was born – but because he looked so much like another person he trusted?

That thought hurts. A lot. And it makes it even worse that it’s so plausible.

Trying to get more answers, Peter grabs Ned’s phone, unlocks it (which he has permission for) and opens the **Peter** folder, scrolling down past all the photos of him and Ned and his friends from schools, only stopping for a moment to look at MJ again, thinking once more that there’s something he’s forgetting, and past the pictures of him with May and Ben.

Then, he finds what he’s looking for. The photos of him and the Avengers. Most of them are with Mr. Stark, at least one of them always smiling. They’re eating ice cream or pizza or cheeseburgers, they’re in a lab or workshop, two robots in the background, they’re up on a roof, overlooking a stunning skyline, Mr. Stark in the Robot Man – or Iron Man – suit and Peter in a thin red and blue suit with a spider in the middle.

Spider-Man. Ned already told him about his alter ego, swinging around their neighborhood and helping people. There are videos of him, swinging through the skyscrapers, flipping through the air, and sticking to walls – it’s like the vision Peter had when he first developed his web fluid. And the name Spider-Man feels so much more right than Spider. That name has always felt incomplete to him, and now he knows why.

There are more pictures. Peter with the other Avengers – Shield Guy, Wing Guy, Other Robot Man (Other Iron Man?), the woman, Something, Witch, even two guys he hasn’t met. Metal Arm Guy is missing, though. Then, there’s the woman with the strawberry blond hair and the baby. The woman looks like she could go toe to toe with Schneider. Not in the physical aspect, but she expresses the same kind of precision and order, an aura of _I get the job done_. She looks a lot nicer than Schneider, though. The baby is almost always in Peter’s arms, cradled against his chest and a red and blue toy with them.

Looking at the pictures and the few videos is kind of surreal. There’s the constant reminder in the back of his head that all of these could be fake, that it’s just some plot to get him on the side of the Avengers and make him turn his back to HYDRA – but everything in him screams that the reminder is wrong. They look real, but maybe Peter just _wants_ them to be real. Maybe he wants to believe that he was this happy somewhere.

But the Avengers are the bad guys. They don’t want world peace, they’re trying to stop HYDRA from achieving it. That part has to be true, at least. Right? Maybe Thomas has lied to him, about who he is, about who his parents were – but HYDRA had to be real. The things he’s done for them… they have been for the greater good. Right?

(The screams. The blood. The deaths.)

Ned stirs on the other side of the room, turning around. “Ned,” Peter whispers, grabbing this chance to calm his racing heart down. Ned groans, but after he calls for him a second time, Ned gives him a half-intelligible answer. “What do you know about HYDRA?”

“They’re the Empire,” he mumbles before turning back around, falling back asleep in less than a second, and completely oblivious to the crisis he’s caused in his friend.

Peter barely manages to not throw up, though his heart pounding in his throat tries everything to vomit right onto the carpet. HYDRA is… evil? Does that mean he’s evil, too? It has to. Because he did everything they asked of him, never questioning it, never disobeying, never thinking twice when Schneider ordered him to shoot someone after his first mission. Tears fill his eyes; tears of anger, tears of betrayal, tears of sadness. Clamping a hand over this mouth to stifle his sobs, Peter allows himself to shed a few tears – then he remembers that HYDRA agents don’t cry and he doesn’t want to be with HYDRA, so why should he _not_ cry? He’s _hurt_. For two years, they used him as marionette, making him believe some fairytales they came up with about his life, making him believe that the only place and the only purpose in his life is HYDRA.

Only because he doesn’t want to wake up Ned, Peter swallows down his sobs and wails, but the tears are streaming down his face, soaking the pillow his head lays on.

Hours later, when the never-sleeping city New York starts its morning routine, night owls staggering home, and early risers getting ready for their dream, when the smell of the bakery down the street fills the air, sun still hidden behind the horizon, and Ned starts to rise, Peter has his plan. “Can you call Mr. Stark?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Mr. Harrington for probably being one of the most important key figures in this story because if he hadn't talked to Peter, Peter wouldn't have met Ned, and Ned wouldn't have called Tony/Happy. And who knows what would've happened then. 
> 
> Also, who else thinks Tony will be super chill about the fact that Ned didn't reached out to him the second he found Peter? 
> 
> I'm sorry for the lack of Irondad in this chapter, but there will be a lot of Irondad in the next one, I promise! 
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter and you have a few minutes (or seconds, even!) to spare, please leave me a comment! I would love to read what you thought about this!


	5. The Avengers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He wanted to call you right away, but I said I don’t want him to call you.”  
> “Why?”  
> Tony doesn’t want to hear the answer. He really doesn’t want to hear it. Because the look on Ned’s face already tells him all he needs to know. “Because I didn’t want to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> Thank you so, so much to everyone who leaves comments, kudos, and bookmarks! ❤ I enjoy reading your thoughts so much and I absolutely loved that everyone appreciated Mr. Harrington just as much as I do. 
> 
> A lot of you are really excited for the Irondad reunion, but it probably won't exactly be what you had in mind. 
> 
> Grab some tissues and enjoy! :)

There’s a rule in the Stark-Potts household. Well, there are a lot of rules, especially because they’re living with a small child, but there’s one particular rule that applies to the adults of the household. Breakfast is family time.

Being the CEO of one of the world’s most successful tech conglomerates, and a superhero who’s on standby basically every minute of the day, seven days a week, time is very valuable for them. Too often one of them has to work late, either trapped in an absolutely boring board meeting, on the other side of the world, or the workshop. So, they decided that they will always have breakfast together (except if there’s a real, actual, immediate catastrophe), completely focused on their family, no phones or other electronic devices allowed – except for FRIDAY, of course.

Morgan sits at the table, feet dangling from the chair, the entire bowl of Froot Loops Tony put in front of her just two minutes ago spread across her place mat (luckily, there hasn’t been any milk in that bowl), as she arranges the cereal by color with an unusual determined face. Pepper looks from the mess her daughter is arranging to Tony, who only offers her a sheepish grin. Okay, maybe he had told Morgan that the cereal tastes different depending on which colored ones you eat together, but how could he have known that she would actually give it a try?

Clearly, he should’ve known it. After all, her DNA is 50% his and he would’ve done exactly the same thing.

That’s not a good enough reason for Pepper, judging by the look she’s still shooting him to fix the mess. “Hey, Morguna,” Tony says, edging her bowl closer to the small piles of Froot Loops, “how about you eat your breakfast now?”

“No thank you,” she says in a very polite and cheerful tone. Under any other circumstances, Tony would’ve been very proud of her good manners.

“Morgan, you know we don’t play with our food,” Pepper says, her tone a bit stricter than Tony’s.

“Mommy, I’m not playing with my food. I’m doing an experiment. Just like Daddy in his lab.”

Another pointed look from Pepper, so Tony knows he has to do damage control. “That’s very sweet, Mo, there are a few rules for doing experiments. Like wearing a lab coat and safety goggles, and only doing it in a lab, and, of course, having at least two doctorates.”

Judging by the chuckle Pepper tries to stifle and Morgan’s confused look, Tony guesses his plan worked. “What’s a doctorate?”

“Oh, it’s when you go to a school for adults, write a lot of papers, and become a specialist in something.”

“I can do that!” Morgan announces excited, grinning and sneaking a red Froot Loop into her mouth. “I can already write my name! I can be a specialist in Froot Loops and in toys!”

“That sounds amazing, sweetie. The world definitely needs more people who have doctorates in Froot Loops and toys.” Morgan squeals, but starts to put her breakfast back into her bowl. Tony only smiles, entirely happy in this one moment.

Of course, that couldn’t last.

“ _Boss_ ,” FRIDAY chimes up, and the mood of the adults darkens at once – it’s never good when the AI interrupts them during their breakfast-family time, “ _Mr. Hogan insists he has to talk to you_.”

“Happy? What does he want?” A terrible feeling starts climbing up Tony’s chest. There has to be a reason Happy calls him, not one of the Avengers, for an emergency. “Did something happen at the compound? Is anyone hurt?”

_“There has been no incident at the compound, and to my knowledge, nobody is hurt.”_

The terrible feeling gets replaced with irritation. “So, no emergency? Why the he-“ a sharp look from Pepper, “Why is he calling me then? He knows the rules.”

_“He did not disclose that information to me, but he insists it is important.”_

“Well, if his paycheck is important to him, then-“

“Patch him through, please,” Pepper interrupts him. Judging by her tone, she already accepted the end of their peaceful breakfast.

There’s a little chime and then: “Tony, are you-“

“This better be good, Hogan, because I swear if-“

“Can you stop talking for just a second and listen to me?” Happy hisses, unusual impatient. Over the years, Happy built a very high tolerance to all of Tony’s shenanigans, rarely snapping at him anymore, mostly just tired.

Tony isn’t happy, but deep down he knows that his old friend wouldn’t behave like this for no reason. Morgan greets Happy enthusiastically and gets a slightly distracted _Hey, Little Miss_ in return. “Okay. I stop talking, and I’m listening.”

Happy doesn’t start immediately, sighing deeply first. “Are you sitting down?”

“I’m in the middle of having breakfast with my family, of course I’m sitting down. Now, out with it.”

“Ned Leeds called me, asking for your number and –“

“Are you serious? You’re calling me this early because of that? I already helped him getting into MIT, I’m not helping him to get popular by flying to his campus and-“

“It’s not about that, it’s-“

“No, I don’t care! You only get to interrupt my family time in case of emergencies, like another alien invasion or a city being terrorized by an evil AI or-“

“Peter is with him!”

Just like that, all the steam and anger and irritation leaves Tony’s body, together with every logical thought in his brain. He barely registers Pepper setting her mug down and telling Morgan to get dressed for her playdate, sliding into the chair next to him, taking his hand into hers. He doesn’t even notice that he started shaking, breath hitched in his throat.

Peter?

“What… What are you saying?” he finally manages to get out.

“Like I said, Ned called me, asking for your number. I said there’s no way he’s getting it, but he insisted it was important, and I told him I’ll be the judge of that. Then he switched to a video call and showed me Peter sitting in his room.”

For a long moment, nothing happens. At least, it feels like a long moment, but in reality, it’s barely more than a few seconds. The thoughts in Tony’s head start to race again, jumping from one theory to the next. Peter is back, in Queens, with Ned – but is it Peter? Did Wanda’s magic work? Has it been enough? Does he know who he is again? And if he does, why didn’t he come to him? Did HYDRA grab this chance and send him there as an undercover spy? Is Ned in on it, too? But most importantly: how does Tony get to him quickly? They’re at the lake house right now, originally planning to spend all of the holidays here and only going back to the city or the compound in the new year.

Pepper’s fingers running through his hair calm his lightning fast thoughts down, enabling him to focus again. “Peter is still with him?”

“I think so. I told him to wait while I called you.”

“How did he find Ned?”

First hesitation, then a heavy sigh from Happy. Tony immediately knows that he’s not going to like whatever comes next. “Apparently, Peter turned up at his old school yesterday afternoon, and-“

“Yesterday afternoon?!” the genius yells, unable to keep it in. Peter has been in the city for more than five minutes and nobody told him?! In fact, he’s been there for more than twelve hours and still nobody called him. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, I am. Their old teacher called Ned. Since then, he’s been staying with Ned’s family.”

“Why didn’t they call sooner?”

“I don’t know, okay? Asked them the same question, but they wouldn’t answer me.”

Tony has to take a few, deep breaths to calm himself down. Yelling at Happy wouldn’t get him any answers, and it sure as hell wouldn’t get him any closer to Peter. There’s only one way he’s going to get what he wants. “Call him back and tell him I’m coming over to get him.”

Happy hesitates again, and a new kind of irritation climbs up Tony’s spine. “Peter doesn’t remember anything, boss. He didn’t know who I was and he seemed… quiet.”

Peter Parker and quiet are not words that are working well together. In fact, every time someone uses them in the same sentence, there’s _always_ something wrong.

“I know that.”

“Just wanted to give you a heads-up.” With those words, Happy hangs up.

Tony feels like someone pulled a rug from underneath his feet. His head is spinning. There are so many questions he needs answers to; first and foremost, is Peter okay? But calling that a question feels too weak, because the need to know that the kid is okay is almost overwhelming, filling his body with a focused energy that makes him hyper aware of everything around him.

Pepper is still looking at him. “I have to go,” Tony says, though that’s unnecessary. That woman knows him better than he knows himself.

“I know,” she just answers, her voice strained in a way that’s a bit unfamiliar.

Tony interprets it as worry. “I promise I will bring him back, okay? And then we will have an absolutely wonderful Christmas together. Maybe we’ll even get a hold of May in time for it.”

It turns out, it is worry in Pepper’s voice. Only worry about something else. “Tony,” she says, turning him around until he faces her, every muscle in her face carefully schooled, but her eyes full of emotions of… sadness? Pain? Something Tony doesn’t like and wants to get rid of as soon as possible. “I know you want to get him back, I do, too, but… don’t bring him here.”

“What? Why are you-“ Pepper’s eyes dash to the ceiling, to the spot Morgan’s room is from where they can hear her running around, probably choosing the kind of catastrophic outfit only a three-year-old could put together. The realization of what she’s trying to say feels like a bucket of cold water thrown into his face. “You don’t want him near Morgan.”

It hurts more than Tony expected. He always thought that Pepper saw Peter as her own kid, just like Tony did. They spent so much time together, especially after Peter got over his starstruck-phase of talking to Pepper Potts and after Morgan was born. Pepper helped him with his Literature and English assignments. They loved to cook together, laughing when tears were streaming down their faces from cutting onions. Pepper designed the rooms in all three of their homes for him, she even chose the Lego models and posters even though she’s not a Star Wars fan.

For the last two years, the only thing that kept Tony from going insane during his search for Peter was the certainty that they would be a family again. And now she doesn’t want him near Morgan. How can you be a family if you don’t want one of your kids near the other one?

“No,” Pepper says, shaking her head, knowing she has to clear the situation before Tony can start spiraling (which he already is), “I trust Peter around Morgan. I know he would never hurt her, that he would do anything to protect her. But, Tony, _please_ , make sure it is Peter before you bring him here.” Suddenly, Tony understands what his fiancée means. She’s not worried about Peter hurting Morgan. She’s worried that it’s not Peter Tony is bringing back home. Her eyes are shining with determination and tears. “I can’t stand losing another kid, Tony. I’m not that strong.”

Tony wants to argue that Pepper is the strongest woman – no, human; no, living being – he ever met, but words fail him. Instead, he squeezes her hand, gives her a quick kiss, and stands up. “Everything will be fine, Pepper. I promise.”

The ghost of a smile pulls at her lips. “Do I need to remind you that you hardly keep your promises?”

“I’m promising to keep that one. Two is better than one, right?”

“Or they cancel each other out like a double negative.” Before Tony can think of a witty reply, Pepper is on her feet and gives him another kiss. “Be careful, okay? I don’t want to lose you before you’re actually my husband.”

“When all of this is over, we should work on finally making it official.” At first, the wedding date has been pushed back because of the pregnancy, then because of their pre-mature baby, and then because of Peter going missing. After that, it felt kind of wrong to plan an event like that when their family wasn’t complete. Besides, getting married is more a bureaucratic thing than anything else at this point. The entire world knows about their family, thanks to the nosy paparazzi. They wear rings on their fingers. They love each other. The only thing getting married would change is the tax benefit.

But now, with the possibility of having a celebration of love with _all_ of their loved ones around them? It doesn’t sound so bad anymore.

“Tell Morgan I love her and that I’ll definitely know if she does any more experiments without getting two doctorates first.” Tony kisses the soft chuckle from Pepper’s lips. “I’ll keep you updated. And everything will be fine, I-“

“Don’t promise me. Whenever you promise me that something will be fine, it turns into a disaster.”

“Touché.”

Tony doesn’t even bother to change into clothes that are less Dad-Tony and more Genius-Billionaire-Philanthropist-Superhero-Tony Stark, he just lets the nanobots form a suit around him and blasts off to the city. For a second, he thinks about directly flying to Ned’s place, but opts for flying to the penthouse and then take a car to Queens. If Peter doesn’t have his full memory back, then he only knows the Iron Man armor from fighting against him. Tony doesn’t want to meet him wearing something that reminds the kid of a fight. Besides, the suit is more of a one-person-vehicle. At the penthouse, he chooses his least flashy car, a jet-black Audi that’s already a few years old, and wastes no more time getting to Peter.

The nervous energy inside Tony doesn’t die down even a little bit. No, it’s the opposite, which should’ve been quite predictable. He actively concentrates on the traffic around him to keep his thoughts from straying too far, from spinning wild scenarios of what could’ve happened.

Happy had texted him the address of Ned’s place, and by some miracle, Tony actually gets a parking spot in front of it. Taking two steps at once, he hurries up the stairs until he reaches the apartment on the third floor. Tony doesn’t even take a second to collect himself, just pounds against the door, ready to kick the piece of wood down if nobody answers him in the next few seconds.

Luckily for the door, Ned is quick to open the door. It’s a real testament to how serious the situation is that Ned isn’t even a little bit starstruck to see the superhero. “Good Morning, Mr. Stark.”

“Morning, Ned,” he greets, impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Is he-“

“Yeah, he’s here.” Ned steps to the side, letting the billionaire inside his home. Somehow, Tony expected to immediately see Peter, like he’s waiting for him to pick him up – instead, he only sees an empty apartment. “I told my family to go out for brunch. Thought it would be awkward otherwise,” Ned starts to ramble (he always rambles when he’s nervous) and walks down the small hallway.

Tony is only able to mumble some kind of reply he can’t really bother with before they turn a corner and suddenly, there is Peter. He stands in the middle of the living room, arms by his side and looking at him with a guarded look, dark shadows underneath his eyes. For a second, Tony completely forgets to breathe because this is _real_. Peter is there, only a couple of feet in front of him.

“Peter,” he whispers as a greeting.

Peter lowers his eyes, not saying anything and just looks at him with that guarded expression. It feels like the time Cap accidently missed his target, his shield hitting the chest of the Iron Man armor, knocking all the air out of his lungs.

Ned tries to save the situation, standing between the two silent superheroes. “So, uhm, thank you for coming, Mr. Stark.” Tony only manages a quick jerk of his head. “We called because we hoped you know where May is.”

“What?” he finally presses out, tearing his eyes away from Peter to look at Ned and register his words. “You want to know where May is?” Ned nods. “That’s why I’m here?”

“W-Well, we didn’t know you would actually come here. Like, we thought Mr. Hogan would give me your number and then –“

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Tony interrupts him, trying his damnest to keep his emotions under control. But he’s never been very good at that. Especially not when a certain spider-boy is involved. “Are you seriously telling me right now that you only called me to ask about May? _Nothing_ else?” The boys stay silent. Tony barely notices it. “And not only that, no. You call me the day _after_ you find out Peter is back in the city? What the hell were you thinking, Leeds?” Ned doesn’t look like he can answer the question, judging by how pale his face went. “No, seriously. Does MIT accept idiots now? Did they lower their standards that much?”

“It-It was already late in the afternoon,” Ned eventually mumbles, eyes fixed on his socks, “and the-the traffic is terrible around that time and-“

Tony’s eye twitches. The traffic? Seriously? Is he seriously trying to get Tony to believe that? Like Ned doesn’t know that Tony would drop almost everything the second he would find out about the whereabouts of Peter, no traffic being able to keep him from him. He could be at the other side of the world, or in space or wherever, and he would fly over right the second as fast as his technology would allow it. And Ned _knows_ that. “You better stop lying to me right now, Leeds. And if I found out you didn’t call me to watch Star Wars or some other dumb movie, I swear-“

“Stop,” Peter says in a hard voice that surprises Tony so much that he actually stops. Now, Peter is actually looking right into his eyes and Tony kind of wishes he wouldn’t. Because then he wouldn’t have to see the absolute anger in his eyes or his ready-to-fight-stance. “Don’t talk to him like that. He’s my friend.”

Tony can’t answer. A part of him knows that he overstepped a line and should apologize, but somehow he has trouble translating that thought into actions. Ned is already rambling that it’s okay, but both Peter and Tony ignore him, staring each other down. Eventually, Tony looks away, closes his eyes for a second to focus, and looks back to Ned. “Peter is right. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I’m sorry for it. You’re not an idiot, obviously. You were able to hack my stuff when you were fifteen. I’m just-“

“I know,” Ned says, saving Tony from expressing the feeling he can’t put in words (just because of that Tony feels like he should apologize for his behavior again), “I know. I get it, Mr. Stark. It’s fine.”

“Star Wars is not dumb,” Peter says, and Tony can’t help but snort. Of course, they watched Star Wars. What else did he expect? “And Ned didn’t call you because I told him not to.”

This time, it feels like when the Hulk punched him through a wall. Or when Wanda dropped twenty cars on him. “What?”

“He wanted to call you right away, but I said I don’t want him to call you.”

“Why?”

Tony doesn’t want to hear the answer. He really doesn’t want to hear it. Because the look on Ned’s face already tells him all he needs to know. “Because I didn’t want to see you.”

Somehow, in the last few weeks and especially the last few days, all the scenarios he imagined how getting Peter back would turn out, this version never came up. Tony never imagined the boy not wanting to see him. He always thought Peter would remember him, or at least enough of him to stick close to him, to seek his guidance and safety.

Clearly, he has been wrong. So very wrong. Tony searches his memories, recalls every single second of every single encounter they had, looking for the reason Peter is looking at him – if he’s looking at him at all, because right now he’s very interested in the spot on the wall left of Tony – with such anger and why he doesn’t want his help. He comes up empty. Does Peter only remember their fights, not the times they made up? Does he hate him because he still thinks the Avengers are his enemy? Does that mean he’s not really Peter but the HYDRA version of him, Siegfried?

While Tony still tries to make sense of the situation, Peter and Ned have a silent conversation, which Ned seems to win, based on the way he turns back to the billionaire. “Peter doesn’t have any memories that go back further than two years ago,” Ned explains, lying a hand on Peter’s shoulder as he begins to shuffle his feet, “except for a memory of May and Ben.”

“Which is why you’re trying to find her,” Tony somehow says, though he has no idea how he manages to form those words while his heart is still thundering against his ribcage, and his brain can’t really make up any real thought besides _Peter doesn’t trust me_.

“She won’t lie to me,” Peter mumbles. Tony’s first instinct is to proclaim that Tony would never lie to Peter either, but he hesitates. There is something so heartbreaking about the way he says it, about the way his shoulders hunch forward and he stares at his balled fists, that makes him swallow the words down.

Tony manages to organize his thoughts. As much as he wants to just whisk the boy away to one of his homes and continue where they left off two years ago, Tony knows he can’t. Something obviously happened, something that Peter is trying to figure out. That something might be the reason why he doesn’t seem too keen about talking to or even looking at Tony.

In that second, it’s unambiguously clear what Tony has to do: help him along the way however he can, even if that means that he has to deal with Peter’s anger and distance. Because Peter finding whatever he’s looking for is more important than whatever fantasy Tony has in his head.

Taking a deep breath, he steels his spine, sniffs once, and tries to look as professional as he can. “May hasn’t contacted me in almost two years,” he says, “but FRIDAY is already working on tracking her down.”

“FRIDAY?” Peter asks, eyes darting to him.

“My AI.”

For the first time since Tony set a foot in the apartment, he can see a glimmer of the old Peter Parker as his eyes light up with excitement. A dimmed version of his usual excitement, but still excitement. “You made an AI?”

“I made several, actually, but I’m very partial to her. At least right now.” Tony swears he can feel a light buzz from his watch, almost as if a certain AI is listening. Which she always is.

“ _Dude_ , Karen!” Ned says, a grin on his face, but Peter just blinks in confusion. “Karen is your AI.”

“I made an AI?”

Tony shakes his head, unable to keep the small smile from his face. “No, I made her. You named her after you two hacked the multi-million dollar suit I gave you to disable all the protocols I installed to keep you safe.”

“Did we really do that?” Peter whisper-asks to Ned.

Who nods in absolute excitement. “Yeah, it was _awesome_! I mean, it was also really reckless and dangerous because in the grand scheme of things it led to pretty bad stuff – but still awesome.” For a second, it looks like Peter wants to say more, maybe ask about Karen or what those bad things were, but then he seemingly changes his mind, keeping his mouth shut.

“Is there anything else you need my help with?” Tony asks, trying to sound as calm and patient as he can. He has to constantly repeat his mantra that this is about Peter figuring out whatever is bothering him and not about Tony’s wishes. Besides, his wish is that Peter comes back to him, and now the boy is standing right there. He already got half of his wish.

Ned’s eyes dart from Peter to Tony and back again, before he shyly says: “I think you should go with him, Peter.”

Tony is this close to hugging Ned, ready to buy him whatever he wants, gladly flying to MIT in his suit – hell, he would bring the entire team, loudly announce that Ned is the coolest person on the planet, nay, the entire galaxy. Peter clearly doesn’t have the same opinion, if the way he whips his head around is any indication. “What?”

“It’s not like I don’t want you here!” Ned hurries to say, panic settling in his entire body as he sees his friend’s crestfallen face. “I would love to have stay here and watch more Star Wars movies and Star Trek, and build Lego models, and play video games, and eat until our stomachs hurt. Like, I would genuinely _love_ that.”

“Then why are you telling me to go?” Peter asks in a strained voice.

“Because I’m not the best person to help you right now. I mean, if you just want to hang out and watch movies and play games, you’re absolutely welcome to stay here. _Always_. But… I really think Mr. Stark and the other Avengers can help you the most right now.”

It takes every little bit of Tony’s willpower to stay still and not make any comment right now. He desperately wants to agree, wants Peter to come with him so he can help him, but there’s the very real chance that Peter would say no just because Tony is agreeing with Ned. Peter looks at Ned with an emotionless face, which is very new. He has never been good at hiding his emotions, especially when he was hurt. But right now, he looks like a marble statue, unmoving and unable to read.

Ned grows visibly nervous at Peter’s silence. Nervously, he looks over to the billionaire, gesticulating between them. “And you can always come visit me whenever you want! Right, Mr. Stark?”

“Of course,” Tony agrees, trying to not look too eager, “You’re free to come and go as you like. I can drive you back here whenever you want.” Peter’s brow twitches just the slightest, and Tony immediately backpaddles. “Or we can give you access to a car and you can drive here yourself. You drove pretty good the last time I saw you.” The comment slipped out of Tony’s mouth before he could really stop himself, and the billionaire immediately stills, cursing himself. He has no idea if mentioning their last mission would somehow change Peter’s mind to not go with him.

The comment does change Peter’s mind. But not like Tony anticipated.

For a second, something flashes across Peter’s eyes and then he only nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?” both Ned and Tony repeat, neither of them believing that Peter gives in just like that. Usually, there’s a lot more convincing and a little bit of bribing involved.

However, this is not the usual Peter Parker.

“Okay,” Peter repeats, “I’m going with you.”

Tony stops himself from asking if he’s really sure. He doesn’t even want the slightest risk of Peter changing his mind. “Okay,” Tony says, his mind slowly starting to work again, “okay, great. I, uh, I’ll wait downstairs by the car. You two can…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, only making a vague gesture with his hands.

In the staircase, halfway down, Tony allows himself to have a small panic attack. Not the one his body is screaming for, because Peter could come back any second and he still has to prepare everything, just big enough so the panic inside him isn’t threatening to suffocate him anymore. Then, when the reality of what happened in the last hour finally settles in, Tony pulls out his phone, shooting a quick message to Pepper first, before opening a group that has been inactive for months.

**Ohana**

**Iron Man**

You sluggards have two hours to wake up, get dressed, and get the place cleaned up

I’m coming over

His finger shakes when he types the next message.

**Iron Man**

And I’m bringing Peter

Who knows he’s not Siegfried, but knows nothing else

Before anyone can answer, Tony pockets the phone again, stepping down the last few steps and waiting by the door, opting to rather hide from the public for a bit longer. Only moments later, he hears unintelligible mumbling and then light footsteps coming down the stairs, almost inaudible if you weren’t listening close enough. Tony straightens his spine, pushing himself off the wall just as Peter steps down to him. He looks a bit nervous, eyes only briefly flying over Tony before settling on the ground. There’s no bag or anything he’s carrying with him, only the clothes that look slightly too big on him.

There are a thousand things Tony wants to say. Instead, he only asks: “Ready to go?”

Peter nods wordlessly, following him to the car, and getting inside without making a single comment. Tony knows the way to the compound like the back of his hand, regularly driving there from the Manhattan penthouse and back, but he still has FRIDAY pull up the route to the place, just so Peter could track where they are.

The tension in the car is stifling. Tony wants to say something, _anything_ at this point, but he doesn’t know if anything would set Peter off. However, it turns out Tony doesn’t have to say anything, because Peter speaks up. “Do I have any money?”

Another reminder that this Peter is very different from the one he knew. Tony never thought he would ever see the day Peter Parker asks about money. Luckily, the car pretty much drives itself, so he doesn’t have to worry about crashing it.

Tony clears his throat, trying to get rid of any indication of bafflement in his voice. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure. May never let me have a look at your bank account, which is probably the normal and sane thing to do.” Peter makes a sound that could mean anything, watching the people outside. “But I could gi-… lend you some money, if you want to.” Tony isn’t sure if he would interpret his routine offer to give him large amounts of money as bribery, so he swallows the word down in the last second. “What do you need the money for?”

Peter tugs down the seams of his sleeves, and that as much fidgeting as he gets from the boy. “I had to… borrow something to get here. A motorbike, these clothes, some cash. I want to give it back.”

Again, there are a million and one questions flooding Tony’s mind, starting with how Peter got here and ending with when he learned to drive a motorbike (Tony knows right away he’s not going to like that answer), but he asks none of them. Instead, he only says: “Okay. We can definitely get on that. Just let me know where that motorbike is and I’ll handle the rest.” For a second, it looks like Peter would reject his offer, but then he gives him a short nod, barely visible.

While they drive through Queens, Peter observes his surroundings, completely focused on the outside. Tony doesn’t say anything, hoping that maybe something will trigger his memory, but if it does, Peter doesn’t show it. Tony’s knuckles on the steering wheel turn white from keeping everything in and trying to seem cool and collected. Almost absentmindedly, Tony pulls out a pair of sunglasses and slips them on his face, sniffing once.

They’re already halfway through Manhattan, when Peter speaks up again. “Can you tell me about yourself?”

Never in his life has Tony imagined that he would have to introduce himself to anyone. Least of all to Peter; the boy who wrote an eight-page essay on him. Another reminder that Peter is only with him in the physical sense.

A joke lays on the tip of his tongue (“Well, it’s the least I can do while I’m kidnapping you, right?”), but he swallows it down and keeps his eyes on the road, unable to look his quasi son in the eyes. “My name is Tony Stark. Anthony Edward Stark, if you’re a nitpicker, but Tony is fine. I’m engaged to a woman called Pepper Potts, and I honestly don’t know how I got so lucky. She’s the only person on this planet I know that has her shit sorted, despite me trying my best to cause as much chaos as I can. We have a three-year-old daughter, Morgan, who’s a stubborn toddler with the ability to argue her way out of any trouble she’s in, thanks to her seeing me doing it all the time.”

He thinks he sees the ghost of a smile on Peter’s face, but before he can investigate, it’s already long gone. “Who’s Iron Man?”

“I am. But only when I’m wearing my armor and blow stuff up.”

“Your armor isn’t made out of iron, though.”

This time, it’s Tony who can’t help but smile a bit. “I know that, you know that, but back when I started the people didn’t know that. Or didn’t really care about it. The name just kinda stuck. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Peter doesn’t comment on it, but Tony takes a risk. Hoping he’s not giving vital information to an undercover HYDRA agent, but instead talking about something which he knows will interest Peter, he pulls out the holding case for the nanobots out of his pocket. “This is the fiftieth version of my suit. It’s probably not going to get any better than this with the technology we’re having right now. Besides, it’s a nice, round number. Anyways, the armor is made out of nanobots.”

Just like he hoped, it does grab Peter’s attention. His eyes dart from Tony to the nanobots, filled with the excitement Tony saw the first time he told him about his technological breakthrough. “You… you figured out how to make nanobots?”

“Sure did, kiddo. I would demonstrate, but driving in the suit is really uncomfortable.”

Peter’s hand twitches, almost like he wants to touch the housing case. However, his hand stays right there in his lap, and Tony pockets the housing case again. Tony knows there have to be a thousand questions in Peter’s head that are trying to get out, but he stays silent. The genius doesn’t know why and that bothers him a lot. Because it means somebody taught Peter to keep quiet, to not ask questions. Which is insane. Peter, unable to stop talking and asking so many enthusiastic questions that your head starts to spin, is one of the best things in the world.

Again, Tony doesn’t press the matter. He shouldn’t be trying to analyze Peter while driving, not matter if the car can drive itself or not. So, Tony focuses on something else that’s been bothering him for way too long. The dark circles under Peter’s eyes. “Is there any point in me saying you can take a nap while I drive? Because it’s a two-hour drive, and you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“No, thank you,” Peter answers a bit distant, watching the outside again.

Well, Tony already guessed that answer. Whether it’s because of the lack of trust or because Peter isn’t tired or because he’s trying to memorize the way, the billionaire can’t tell. Suppressing a sigh and ignoring the pain in his chest, Tony shrugs. “Alright, suit yourself. Do you mind some music?” He doesn’t wait for Peter to answer, only presses a button and then AC/DC fills the stiff tension between them. For a second, Peter eyes the radio curiously, eyes narrowed a bit, but just when Tony wants to ask if he remembers AC/DC, the boy looks away again.

Needless to say, the ride to the compound is a very awkward one. Peter stays quiet, which is the longest time Tony has witnessed the boy being conscious and not talking. Instead, Peter seems to scan his surroundings, watching everything with a kind of intensity Tony isn’t used from him. Then, there’s the feeling of being watched. Tony isn’t sure where it comes from, because it’s definitely not Peter watching him. Maybe he’s just nervous about HYDRA following them. Or maybe he’s so focused on watching Peter that he feels watched himself.

When the country road they’ve been driving on parts to give them a spectacular view of the Avenger’s compound, Peter actually leans forward to get a better view of it, unable to feign disinterest anymore. Of course, the building doesn’t stand as tall as the tower, but it is its own piece of art. Futuristic, absolutely way too big, made out of sharp angles, gigantic windows, concrete and steel. Tony takes the long way to the garage, almost circling the entire building, so Peter could see everything, from the runway for the quinjets to the outdoor pool. For a second, Tony thinks about parking in the garage that holds all of the vehicles for their missions, but decides against it. Instead, he parks next to the four cars of his that are always at the compound, Steve’s motorbike at the other wall, as well as the cars of the other ones.

“ _Welcome back, boss_ ,” FRIDAY greets them the moment they climb out of the car. Peter jumps a little at the sudden voice, fingers hovering over his wrist where Tony assumes his web shooters are hidden. However, the confused look in his eyes quickly turns into something else.

“Thanks, FRI,” Tony answers, “but next time, give a little warning, dear. I think you spooked Peter.”

“ _I do apologize_ ,” the AI says, “ _and it is very good to see you again, Mr. Parker_.”

“Thank… you,” Peter eventually answers, dropping his hands back to his side. Almost like he’s asking for permission, he looks at Tony who only nods, not really knowing what Peter is asking, but knowing that he wants the Peter back who isn’t asking for permission to say something. “You’re Mr. Stark’s AI? FRIDAY, was it?”

_“That is correct.”_

Peter pulls his eyebrows together, seeming to think about something for a moment, eyes darting from one point on the ceiling to another one. “Are you in the entire building?”

_“Except for the bathrooms and your room, I am installed in every room in this building.”_

“Why aren’t you in my room?”

“Because you started missing Karen whenever you weren’t in your suit,” Tony explains. “Besides, she’s your personal AI. It makes sense that she’s in your room. You two get along great, you always talked way past your bedtime.” Peter stares at him unblinkingly, so Tony just nods towards the elevator, ignoring the disappointment of not hearing one of his excited ramblings why Peter stayed up talking to Karen.

FRIDAY doesn’t ask where the elevator should take them, she just knows where they want to go. And maybe the rest of the team literally waiting a couple of feet in front of them when the doors open again has something to do with it, too. Next to Tony, Peter stiffens at the sight of the other Avengers, and Tony curses himself for not giving him a heads up or telling the team to take it easy on him. They all look positively not-threatening (at least as not-threatening as they can), dressed in civilian clothes, trying to look like they were just all lounging around. The only one who actually manages to look casual and relaxed is Natasha.

“Look at who fell out of their beds,” Tony jokes, trying to cut the tension in the room. He steps out of the elevator and only then Peter trails after him, every muscle in his body tense.

“That’s rich coming from the guy who only sleeps every third night,” Nat says, putting the magazine aside and getting up from the couch. Before Tony can defend himself (ever since Morgan has been born, he’s gotten so much better at sleeping regularly), Natasha already moved on, her focus on Peter, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Hey Peter. Or is it still Siegfried?”

Natasha’s tone is light, almost playful, but the hairs on the back of Tony’s neck stand up, his heart missing a beat or two. What is she doing? Is she trying to trigger him? To make him run away?

Peter is taken aback by that questions, too, but eventually answers: “It’s Peter.”

Nat’s smile widens a bit. “Good. I like that name a lot more. I’m Natasha, by the way. We didn’t really have time for introductions the last time we met, seeing that you actually manage to beat me.” Before Tony could ask her why she’s bringing up the missions, the spy already mentions behind her, introducing one after the other, who all slowly shuffled forward. “Then there are Clint and Scott, but they’re with their families.”

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you all,” Peter whispers, clearly not knowing how to react to any of that. His eyes keep going back to Wanda who is staying at the back of the group.

“How was the ride up?”

“Smooth,” Tony answers Natasha, because Peter stays silent. “I expected more traffic this close to Christmas.”

“Did you drive?” Sam asks Peter, leaning against the back of the couch, arms crossed over the chest. “If my eyes didn’t play any tricks on me, you’re actually a pretty good driver now. Good enough to escape all of us.”

Somehow, Tony manages not to scream at Sam, because why is he talking about it, too? Nat is always a wild card for certain things, but the billionaire thought Sam would have at least a bit more tact in this regard. Or are they just that oblivious to Peter’s more than obvious feeling of misery?

“I didn’t drive the car. I didn’t know the way.”

“Well-“

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Tony asks Nat, unable to go on with this… game or whatever it is they’re doing. “In private.” Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees Peter stiffen again, but he’s not able to focus on that right now, already turning around and strutting down the corridor, Nat’s steps almost soundless behind him.

Tony leads them into a soundproofed room, not taking any chances that a certain spider-boy could hear them. The second the door is closed behind them, he turns to Natasha, who doesn’t really look disinterested, but wears a blank expression. “What the hell are you doing?” he spits.

“Tony, calm down, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay! It’s the complete opposite of okay! Don’t you see how uncomfortable he is? He doesn’t remember anything about who he is and you constantly bring up everything that ties him to HYDRA!”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Yes, it is! Are you pissed that he kicked your ass the other day? That he is now a match to you? Do you want to hu-“

“If you dare to say that I want to hurt him, I _will_ do things to you that are a lot more hurtful than a smack across the face,” Nat threatens, eyes dark and full of promises of pain. The open display of emotions on her face stops Tony in his tracks long enough for the spy to continue. “Of course I don’t want to hurt him. Nobody of us want that.”

“Then why do you keep bringing up that stuff? I tried my best to make him comfortable the last two hours, to make him forget what happened to him, and you ruin it.”

“Because making him forget what happened is not the right way to handle this.”

Tony doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he just stands there and stares, shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath. Nat steers him to one of the chairs, urges him to sit down before sitting on the table herself. Tony wonders for a brief moment if it’s some kind of power play that she sits on a higher spot than him, almost like she is talking down to him, but he decides he can deal with all of that afterwards.

“It’s not wrong that your first instinct is to distract him from HYDRA,” Nat explains in a soft, calm voice, slowly taking his glasses off, and putting them on the table. “Any good parent wants to spare their kid pain.” Hearing her words, Tony drops his face in his hands, not wanting her to see his pain (his kid who doesn’t remember him, who didn’t want to go with him, who didn’t even want to see him), but unable to hide it. “But that’s not the long-term solution for this. The things he did as Siegfried, he remembers them, and you can’t make him forget them unless you plan to erase the last two years of his memories. Based on what we know about HYDRA and what they usually do, I guess the stuff they made him do was not good. Peter maybe hasn’t realized that yet, maybe he still thinks he did all of that for a good cause, but there will be a point where he finds out. And then…”

“Then what?” Tony doesn’t really want to ask, because he really doesn’t want to hear the answer. His mind already started connecting the dots, going down the road Nat is painting him, realizes why she does what she was doing earlier. However, he still has to ask.

Natasha sighs, and when Tony finally looks up again, she, too, is unable to keep the emotions from her face. “Peter’s guilt complex is bigger than ours. We’re talking the kid who got obsessively careful about stepping on ants after finding out that Scott can communicate with them. The one whose default setting it is to apologize. When he really realizes what he’s done, the best-case scenario is that he turns into a complete pacifist. The worst-case scenario is that he k-“

“Don’t!” Tony yells, rather wanting to fly back into a wormhole than hearing the end of that sentence.

She doesn’t finish the sentence, and waits a moment for him to ban all the images of a fourth gravestone next to the other Parker graves. “I’m not bringing up HYDRA be cruel. I’m trying to normalize the skills he has gained in the last few years.”

“And why would you do that? He got them from HYDRA, talking about them will remind him of HYDRA.”

“Because I think he might stop doing anything that he learned there because he thinks those skills are evil. What if he stops driving because he learnt to drive well at HYDRA? What if Peter stops fighting because they taught him how to fight?”

“Then he only takes the subway and becomes non-violent.”

“What about all the other stuff he learned?” Tony looks away, fully aware of what she was hinting at but doesn’t want to think about it. Of course, that doesn’t stop her from explaining it anyway. “What if Peter never steps into a lab again? You said yourself that nobody but Peter could’ve engineered those new webs. What if he forces himself to lose every interest in science he has, avoiding it like the plague? What if he never speaks any of the languages they taught him-“

“You don’t know if they did that.”

“They were trying to make a spy out of him, of course they taught him different languages.” Nat sighs, slipping from the desk down to a chair next to him. “We all know Peter loves being Spider-Man and working in the lab with you. Nobody of us wants to see him giving up things he loves because he feels guilty. That’s why we’re doing it. So that he realizes the skills he got aren’t evil in themselves. That he doesn’t have to be afraid to use them, thinking it will make him a bad person. That the intention and the way he uses them is what makes the difference.”

“How do you know that something like that will happen?”

“Because it happened to Barnes. Because it happened to me.” She holds his gaze, locking her eyes with his, unwilling to give him the ability to look away. “Because you shut down the weapons department when you found out they were misused.”

Tony is kind of stunned to be part of that list, but doesn’t deny it either. There were some similarities, he could admit that, but it’s nowhere close to what the two assassins went through. Nowhere close to what Peter will be going through. Which also means he’s definitely not the right person help him on this journey. That conclusion feels like another punch to the stomach. He wants to help Peter, wants him to be happy, and is willing to do whatever needs to be done. Even if that means taking a step back so other people could help him better.

“What’s your plan, then?” Tony asks, feeling defeated and tired.

“Trying to do our best to make him realize that he’s not evil, and be there for him when he breaks down. Which he will. Right now, Sam and Bucky should be with him.”

That takes Tony by surprise. “Sam and Barnes? Why them?”

Nat gives him a half-shrug, leaning back in her chair. “Sam is very easy-going. Besides, Peter is always less formal with him.” Peter’s and Sam’s relationship has always been a bit different than the rest, a lot more teasing and pranks, and the fact that Peter calls Sam by his first name. Tony (who is definitely not even a little bit jealous about that fact, and who always took comfort in knowing that Peter always preferred to spend time with Tony instead of Sam) never got the story why Peter calls him Sam, something about having no respect for him.

“But why Barnes? Peter barely knows him.” Tony doesn’t really like the idea of Barnes being close to Peter, because the memory of the surveillance tape from 1991 is still too fresh in his mind, even after all these years. A part of him knows that that’s unfair, that the man has changed, and even in the few weeks he’s been staying at the compound, Barnes had been nothing but well-mannered and friendly – still, there’s the lingering fear that history will repeat itself. That maybe the treatment didn’t work and he will snap someday.

Natasha doesn’t answer, which is the answer Tony needs. “In case Peter attacks.”

“Yes,” she admits, obviously not liking the reason behind Barnes’ presence either, “but also because he and Sam are non-threatening when they’re together.”

Which is something nobody of them really understands. Sam is a highly trained soldier, lightning fast with his wings in the sky, completely capable of getting himself out of any trouble he’s in. Barnes was the Winter Soldier, which is explanation enough. Together, they should be very threatening – but they are not. Because whenever they are together (and not on a mission), they can’t stop bickering. Granted, Sam does most of the bickering, but Barnes isn’t innocent either, doing all the little stuff he knows will drive Sam crazy with the energy of a cat that holds eye contact while pushing something off the table. Tony honestly can’t say how Steve is able to spend so much time with them together, constantly in the middle of their almost juvenile quarrelling.

Natasha’s idea isn’t bad. Those two might really be the best ones to make Peter drop his guard. Tony is sure that Peter, the old Peter, wouldn’t been able to stop laughing seeing them together. “That’s good,” Tony eventually says, staring at his knees. “They’ll help him when he asks them for it.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Why are you saying it like he won’t ask you for help?”

Tony can’t help but snort, but not in a funny way. No, it feels like the complete opposite of funny. “Because he won’t.”

“Don’t be silly. You know he will.”

“No, he won’t,” Tony insists, looking back to Nat. “You know when he arrived in Queens? Yesterday afternoon. He was with Ned since yesterday afternoon, and specifically told him not to call me, because he didn’t want to see me. And no, I didn’t come to that conclusion myself, he straight up told me. On the entire way here, he barely looked at myself. Like he can’t stand to see my face.”

“Tony,” she sighs, leaning forward to grab his hand. “He does look at you. All the time. You just don’t see it.”

“Natasha, I-“

“No, Tony, he really does. You just don’t see it because you’re still looking for the Peter from two years ago, the one who got excited over everything and wasn’t afraid to show it, the one who couldn’t hide a single thing from you. Now, he’s better at being more subtle, but if you know what you’re looking for, then it’s as clear as the day. He takes all his cues from you.”

Tony thinks back to the car, to feeling of being watched even though he couldn’t figure out why. He wants Natasha to be right so bad, wants to believe that Peter doesn’t hate him now, that it’s almost too much.

She squeezes his hand, drawing his attention back to her. “Peter needs you right now, even if he can’t or doesn’t want to realizes it. All you need to do is to be there for him. Just like you always were.”

* * *

“There’s gotta be one around here _somewhere_.”

“I don’t really think this is a good idea.”

“No, no, it totally is. So, where do you think they keep the helicopters?” Sam turns around after he opened another door that does not lead to a secret helicopter hanger, looking expectably at Peter and Metal Arm Guy, no, _Bucky_ , who don’t say anything. Peter doesn’t know where anything in this building is, and based on the few minutes he’s spent in Bucky’s presence, he’s not a big talker. FRIDAY is also being absolutely unhelpful, only replying that she doesn’t know the answer, which is an obvious lie.

“I only said I know how to _theoretically_ fly a helicopter,” Peter repeats, trying his best not to seem too nervous, even though he’s incredibly nervous right now. When the two men stuck to him while the rest of the Avengers cleared the room after Tony left with Natasha, Peter’s guard had been up. He remembers his fights against Bucky well, and he also remembers the way Sam was able to move in the sky like it was nothing. Even though they don’t wear any visible weapons, Peter still sees them as dangerous.

Peter keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. If it weren’t for Ned’s words he said to him as they hugged goodbye (“I know you don’t trust Mr. Stark, or the other Avengers, but they are your friends. They want to help you. _Please_ , give them a chance. They all care for you, especially Mr. Stark. I don’t know why you’re so careful around him, but you can trust him, I promise you. Just… give it a try. And if you don’t think it’s working out, you can come back here and live with us. We’ll take turns sleeping on the floor.”), Peter would’ve run away from Tony the second he had the chance to. Because every time he looks at him, he sees Thomas, thinks about his betrayal, about the way he lied to him about everything, and he simply can’t stomach the thought of going through something like that again.

However, the second Peter saw Tony in the Leeds apartment – if he’s being honest, it was the very first second he saw Tony in the computer lab – Peter noticed that he has a very hard time ignoring Tony. There is something about him that keeps his attention, something that makes it quite difficult to not take his offer for help. It’s like a part of him is trying to be close to him because he feels… safe with him, if Peter is interpreting that feeling correctly.

And for a split second, he’s always tempted to give in, to tell the man what is going through his mind, what has happened in the last two years, to ask him for help and comfort. But then, he always – _always_ – remembers that Peter felt exactly the same way when he first saw Thomas. So, Peter keeps his distance as good as he can, but never quite stops watching Tony.

Keeping his distance hasn’t worked that great, judging by the panic that overcame Peter when Tony left him with the rest of the Avengers to talk to Natasha. Peter knows that Tony had been angry, most likely about something she said, and he felt incredibly stupid when urge to ask him to stay by his side popped up in his head. Of course, he didn’t voice that thought, just bit his tongue and prepared himself for whatever the other Avengers had planned for him.

But, really, nothing could’ve prepared him for Sam and Bucky, and Sam’s obsession with Peter’s statement that he cannot only drive a car, a motorbike, a boat, and a jet ski, but also knows how to fly a helicopter.

“Yeah, and I said I don’t believe you, so we have to find one for you to prove me wrong.” Sam is very casual which throws Peter a bit off. Well, more than a bit. There has never been any small talk at HYDRA, agents making no effort to get to know each other. Or maybe they just didn’t make any effort to get to know him specifically.

“He doesn’t have to prove anything to you,” Bucky says a bit grumpily, arms crossed over his chest. “Besides, you don’t know how to fly a helicopter. How do you even know if he’s doing it right?”

“I’m Falcon, I know a thing or two about flying.”

“But do you know how to fly a helicopter?”

When Sam grimaces, Bucky smirks just a little bit. However, Sam doesn’t stop there, turning around, and pointing a finger at the other Avenger. “You know what? Remember two weeks ago when I flew into that burning building to get your ass out of there because your arm stuck to that stupid thing like a magnet against a fridge? That’s not gonna happen again.”

“You say it like I wanted you to help me. I could’ve done it myself.”

“Oh yeah? Before or after you were a pile of ashes?” Bucky stays quiet, and this time it’s Sam’s turn to smile. “See, you jerk? You need my help.”

“I don’t need your help,” Bucky almost hisses in a grumpy way.

“And here we go again. Totally ignoring the fact that I saved you how many times already?”

“And how many times did I have to help out you?”

“I thought they were so big on manners back when you were born, did nobody ever teach you how to say thank you? Every single time, all I get is your pout and you complaining that you didn’t need my help. Next time, I’m letting you burn. Seriously, you-“

“Why do you help him, then?” Peter interrupts Sam’s rant, not that Bucky has really been listening. His mind has already been somewhere else, probably hearing something like this twice a day. Peter’s question pulled him back from wherever his thoughts strayed to and Sam blinks in confusion. Peter suppresses the urge to shift his weight from one foot to the other, and makes a point of holding eye contact. “I mean, you don’t want to help him. He doesn’t want your help. Why do you keep helping him?”

Sam and Bucky share a somewhat dumbfounded look, like they can’t make sense of his words. Peter, however, doesn’t know where the problem is. HYDRA agents always looked out for themselves, not counting on anyone else to save them. (Except for him, of course. They had to make sure their little project survived and got back to him. A wave of nausea runs through his body.)

“Because that’s what we do,” Sam eventually explains, “we’re helping each other out. Even though he’s a pain in my ass, he’s still part of the team. Ohana, y’know?” Bucky gives a nod and a shrug.

Peter, in fact, does not know. “What’s Ohana?”

That seems to surprise the two even more than his previous question. “You don’t remember Ohana?” Peter shakes his head no. “I mean, you did lose your memory, but… I just guessed you would know what it means.”

“I had to watch that movie three days after I got here,” Bucky comments, his voice not giving away if that was a good or bad thing.

“I’ve watched Star Wars,” Peter is quick to say, thinking that maybe it has something to do with that. After all, Star Wars is a movie, too.

“Of course you have,” Sam smiles, but while his tone is teasing, the look in his eyes says something different. “Well, we can’t continue looking for a helicopter if you don’t know what Ohana means. I’ll say we have a movie night.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” Bucky throws in.

“Gosh, you’re such a nitpicker. How does Steve stand to be around you? FRIDAY, tell everyone to assemble in the movie room. It’s an emergency.”

“ _Certainly_.” There a short pause. _“Mr. Rogers would like to know what snacks you would like to eat.”_

Both Sam and Bucky look at Peter expectantly, who thinks back to the night before and what Ned smuggled into his room. “Uh… sour gummy worms?”

Judging by Sam’s smile, it’s the right answer. Then, the man surprises him by swinging an arm around his shoulder. For a second, they don’t move. Sam waits for Peter’s reaction, and Bucky tenses for just a moment, preparing his muscles to jump into action if needed. And Peter… Peter actually doesn’t mind this. It’s kind of like a hug, and he already knows that he likes hugs. To calm the other two down, he tries his best to relax his muscles, dropping his shoulders and letting the tension in his back melt away. Bucky immediately follows his example, and he can hear Sam’s heartbeat slow down. “On to the movie room, then!”

Peter guesses they take the long way around to the movie room, passing the gym, the pool, and many other rooms on the way, Sam pointing out each one of them, as well as telling one story for every room of how Bucky didn’t know how to use the technology in there. That’s also how Peter finds out that he is pretty much hundred years old, but he doesn’t get any explanation to how that happened. Bucky simply rolls his eyes, continuing to look grumpy.

The movie room is nothing like Ned’s room with the TV in it. One wall is covered by a screen, there are no windows, the walls, ceiling, and floor covered in a dark carpet, a gigantic sofa as well as a few very comfortable looking armchairs, and a small side table, that’s covered with various snacks, including the sour gummy worms. The other Avengers are already there, standing around the room and chatting in soft voices. Nobody has taken a seat yet, and Peter has a feeling that the reason for that is him. His eyes dart to Tony for a second, who’s talking to Rhodey, but he looks away before the man can catch his eyes. Again, there are the conflicted feelings of safety and betrayal inside him.

“To be honest, I’m kinda shocked that you all came running when I said movie,” Sam teases them, letting go of Peter in favor of going to the snack table, throwing the pack of gummy worms to him which he catches with ease. “Does nobody of you have anything better to do?”

“Says the guy who suggested the movie,” Natasha says, stealing a gummy worm from Peter once he teared the package open. “Besides, this is very important. Peter not knowing what Ohana means? We can’t have that.”

Heat gathers in Peter’s cheeks, the feeling that he did something wrong starting to bubble up in his chest. However, nobody else comments on it; in fact, nobody even seems to think he made a mistake. Instead, they all wait for him to settle down on the couch before settling down themselves. Natasha sits on his left, Sam on his right, legs stretch out far before him. Once again, Peter’s eyes travel to Tony, who took one of the arm chairs, and he can’t help but feel a bit disappointed about it.

“FRIDAY, start the movie, please,” Tony orders, the few lights in the room darkening, and the screen comes to life.

Lilo & Stitch is a very different movie than Star Wars, but that doesn’t mean Peter loves it any less. It’s very clear that it’s a movie for children, however, the adults don’t seem bothered by it. Quite the contrary, actually. Sam gives a running commentary (“Those girls are assholes.” “They’re kids, Sam.” “So, what? Does that mean they can’t be assholes?”), Tony starts a discussion why nobody from Earth was invited to that intergalactic counsel, Wanda softly repeats the lines from the movie, Bucky cracks a smile from time to time, and Natasha throws popcorn at everyone, telling them to stop talking. Peter originally thought that he would get distracted by all the chaos around him, but the movie holds his attention.

He never thought he could identify with a blue alien that has six arms, gigantic ears, and antennae, but when Stitch – a creature that was born evil, with the sole purpose to destroy – finds people who accept and love him despite his evilness, and he’s actually able to change… Peter has a hard time not showing his emotions, knowing that half of the room is watching him with sharp eyes.

Peter is an abomination, he knows that, and he accepted it. He thought working for HYDRA would be his redemption for that, and for a while, it really felt like he’d found his family. Until he found out that they lied to him, and that HYDRA isn’t one of the good guys. What if he really is damned to be evil and do evil things? What if there’s no way for him to redeem himself and do something good?

“So, Peter, did you like the movie?” Steve asks as the end credits of the movie roll across the screen, pulling the boy out of his thoughts and back into reality.

Trying to clear his throat as subtly as he can (and failing at it), Peter says: “Y-Yeah, it’s a really… inspiring movie.”

“Inspiring?” Rhodey asks with a small, confused smile. “Inspiring how? The first time we all watched it, you kept describing at as the purest thing ever made.”

For a second, Peter thinks about lying, about making himself not so vulnerable by telling them about the thoughts running through his head. But then he remembered the pain Thomas caused him by lying to him, and he quickly changes his mind. “Well, I mean… At the beginning, they say Stitch is a monster, an abomination, something that is pure evil and can only destroy, but then he can actually change. He proves everyone and himself that he can be good, no matter what his nature is. And that’s just very inspiring for people like me.”

There’s a sudden and very obvious shift in the room. Peter can feel the burning stares of everyone on him – the one that burns the hottest is Tony’s, eyes drilling into him with an emotion Peter can’t really recognize. He doesn’t know what he said that caused this mood, because the Avengers surely know about him, about what he is. He fought as Spider-Man by their side, right?

“Mr. Parker, what do you mean when you say _people like me_?” Vision asks, and even his calm and almost monotone voice sounds quite strained.

Peter doesn’t want to say the words. Isn’t it enough that everyone knew? Does he have to say them out loud, too? “Y-You know what I mean.”

“No, we really don’t,” Sam objects, his playfulness completely gone now.

Tony’s eyes are still burning into him, his entire posture rigid, and Peter can basically feel the anger radiating off of him. He doesn’t know why he’s so angry. Ned said they were close, and he made him a suit. He has to know what Peter means. Why is he so angry, then? Trying to find a friendly face, Peter looks across the room, but everything he sees are hard, emotionless masks, so he looks down on his knees when he says: “People that are abominations. Like me.”

A heartbeat passes in which nothing happens, a moment frozen in time.

Then, that heartbeat is over.

“What?” Tony hisses, voice low and dangerous. Peter’s eyes snap up to him, and he’s surprised by the intensity of the emotions in them. “What did you just call yourself?”

“Tony,” Rhodey whispers, putting a hand on his arm, but Tony shakes it off. Nobody else seems to dare to do something.

“Peter, what did you just call yourself?” he repeats, this time a bit louder.

There’s the urge to sink into the couch and disappear, but he has the feeling even that wouldn’t stop Tony from getting his answer. “An abomination.”

Tony’s left eye twitches. “And why the hell would you call yourself that?”

“Because that’s what I am.”

The mood shifts again and it’s so much worse than before. There’s a collected intake of breath as Tony jumps to his feet, nostrils flared, and shaking like a leaf. “Tony-“ Natasha tries, but he cuts her off with a glare.

“Don’t you _dare_ to tell me calm down! I can’t! They fucking told my k-“ He stops himself, before continuing to yell, “They told him he’s an abomination, and he believes it!”

“Screaming doesn’t make it better,” Steve argues, standing up himself and moving between the couch and Tony. Peter isn’t quite sure why he thinks that that’s helpful, because Tony doesn’t look like Steve being physically closer to him will calm him down. In fact, Tony looks livid enough to rip right through Steve if he doesn’t move away.

“Why would you believe some shit like that?” Tony asks Peter, who can only stare back. “Why would you even think for the fraction of a nanosecond that you’re an-an abomination or whatever?”

“B-B-Because I am,” he says, his voice way too weak for his liking, but his body isn’t really listening to what Peter wants it to do. “Because I’m different.”

“Are you talking about your powers?” Rhodey asks, who now also stands next to Tony, joining Steve in the battle to keep Tony calm.

Peter nods. “They said nature wanted me to be evil and that’s why I was born with my powers. And that I could try to be good by fighting for them, by making sure they reach their goal.”

Tony takes a deep breath. Then: “THEY FUCK–“

“You’re scaring him,” Bucky comments, eyes locked on Peter.

That seems to break through Tony’s anger, causing him to pause for a second, and take another deep breath. It did nothing to tone down his anger, but even though his voice is still shaking from anger, he isn’t screaming anymore. “Peter, not one word of what you just said is true. You were not born evil.”

“But my powers-“

“You got them when you were fourteen.”

Of all the things he learned in the last couple of days that turned out to be lies, this one feels like the biggest slap across the face. Peter can’t really explain why, it just does. It’s a good thing he’s sitting down, because he’s not quite sure his legs would’ve held his weight right now. He breaths a, “What?”

“You weren’t born with your powers,” Tony explains, still very angry, but at least trying to keep it under control, “Nature had nothing to do with it. If anything, it was pure chance or bad luck. You got your powers from a radioactive spider that bit you when you were on a school trip.”

(There’s an itch on the back of his hand.)

The room starts spinning. There’s not enough oxygen in the room for him. “That’s not true,” he says weakly, trying to get control back over the situation. There had to be one single thing Thomas hasn’t lied to him about. Just one.

“I can prove it,” Tony answers. Peter’s head snaps up, looking at the man with wide eyes. “FRIDAY, there are some of Peter’s baby teeth in May’s stuff that we stored here at the compound, right?”

_“There are, boss.”_

“I take it you still know enough about biology to compare two sets of DNA samples?” Almost absentmindedly, Peter nods. “Great. We got all the stuff we need for a few tests in lab. You can do the tests yourself, drawing your own blood and compare it to the tooth. And then you will see that the only difference between them are the 2% spider DNA you have now.”

There is a not small part of Peter that wants to decline. Because if he doesn’t do this, then he can still pretend that not everything was a lie. That there has been just one thing that has been true.

But it’s the same thought, the same stubbornness in him that makes him nod his head. He needs to know who he is.

* * *

Tony tries his absolute best to keep calm while he stomps down the hallways, Peter’s steps behind him almost soundless. Not that he’s really doing a good job at being calm, because for one, he’s absolutely livid. He’s not sure when the last time was that he’d been this angry, when it burned through his veins like liquid fire, threatening to consume all of him, the need to get into his suit and blow stuff up and hurt someone almost overwhelming. And on the other hand, Tony really doesn’t want to be calm. Because those disgusting people made Peter believe that he’s evil, that he has to pay for some kind of sin he has no control over. The thought makes him nauseous and spurs on his anger.

The only reason he’s not raging right now is that Peter is right behind him and Barnes’ comment that he’s scaring him. Peter doesn’t know that the anger that radiates off Tony is not directed at the boy, but in true Peter Parker fashion, he assumes it is. Tony is going to work on that after he made him see that he’s not evil, that he’s, in fact, the opposite of evil.

The walk to the storage room (Tony had moved all the stuff von the storage unit here, paranoid that someone would break in and steal some of the treasures) and then to the lab is filled with an icy silence. The others didn’t join them, Peter is his new-usual quiet self, and Tony seriously thinks that he’ll just start screaming if he opens his mouth again. When they walk into the glass cage that holds his lab, the entire room lights up, exposing the mess on the workbenches, and half-built suits and other equipment lying around. “The machine for the test is over there,” Tony explains, already walking towards that corner of the room. “We got your tooth, all we need now is some blood of yours and-“

He turns around, expecting to see Peter just a couple of steps behind him. Instead, he is still by the door, looking at the door with big eyes full of… not wonder. In the first second, it looks like wonder, but it’s not. More like dread.

Another thing he will tackle after he fixed this first.

“Peter,” he calls him, and this time, getting his attention, “I said we need some fresh blood of yours for the test to work.”

“Yeah,” Peter answers, voice hoarse, and he swallows before stepping closer to him. Tony already pulled out a syringe and some disinfectant, ready to draw some blood from the boy with as little pain as he could, because he vividly remembers the first time someone tried to get some blood from Peter, and it wasn’t pretty.

But to his surprise, Peter grabs the disinfectant, spraying it on the exposed crack of his elbow, swiping it clean, and then inserts the needle without so much as a little whimper. Tony can only watch as the little syringe gets filled up with the dark, red liquid. With movements that scream of routine work, Peter pulls the needle out, hands it to Tony, before dabbing the little bit of blood away.

Tony just ignores the bad feeling that took a permanent spot in his stomach, and just injects the blood into the machine. “FRIDAY, run the test and show us the results the second you have them.”

_“Certainly, boss.”_

It doesn’t take FRIDAY long to complete the tests, so they don’t have to wait too long in the tense silence that’s partly due to Tony’s still hot anger and partly to Peter’s awkwardness. In less than a minute, the tests are completed and two holo-screens pop up, one showing Peter’s old DNA and the other one showing his new one.

“As you can see, they’re almost identical,” Tony explains, his back to Peter, pointing at the holo-screens, “except for these parts here, which are from the spider bite and the cause for your powers. FRI, be a dear and show us the typical DNA of the type of spider we think bit Peter.” Another holo-screen pops up. “See? Spider DNA. You weren’t born with your power. Nature or… fate or whatever you want to call it doesn’t want to punish you. It’s just a bad case of Parker Luck, like you call it.”

Because Peter doesn’t answer him, Tony turns around, ready to defend his case and make him see the truth – but what he sees stops him in his tracks. Peter’s face is paler than white, eyes big and watery, staring with such an intensity at the holo-screens that Tony fears he’ll damage them. His entire body is shaking, breath hitching in his throat. Tony recognizes it at once, having talked Peter through a couple of them a few years ago; a panic attack. In slow motion, Peter raises a shaky hand, letting it hover in the air for a second before flicking his wrist, pulling up a new holo-screen.

“No,” Peter starts to whisper, shaking his head slightly, hand dropping back to his side. “No, no, no! This-This can’t be happening!”

As if all of his strength suddenly left his body, Peter falls to the ground, barely registering it. The anger inside Tony evaporates in a heartbeat, and instead the need (a need more important than taking his next breath or having his heart keep beating) to make sure Peter is okay takes over. Kneeling next to him on the floor, Tony doesn’t think about the fact that the boy doesn’t know who he is or how close they were, or that he didn’t want to see him. Instead, he puts a hand on his shoulder, gently rubbing the spot. “Just breathe,” he says, hating every second he has to see Peter in so much pain. “It’s okay.”

“Nothing is okay!” Peter yells, tears spilling out of his eyes. “Everything has been a lie! Every word he said to me, everything I thought was real has been a lie! My parents, my biology, my life, my purpose – _everything_! For two years, for two _fucking_ years, he lied to me!” Tony remembers the way the old Peter has never been able to talk when he was this worked up, always choking on the sobs and tears – this Peter doesn’t have the same problem.

“It’s okay, Peter, it’s over now.”

“It’s _not_ okay!” He raises his head, looking straight at Tony, and his heart breaks in an instant. There’s so much pain in them that it takes his breath away. “I did horrible things for them! I killed people! Believing that it was okay, that it was for the greater good, that I was doing it for a better cause because _he_ told me it was!” This time, a sob does escape his throat, and it’s the saddest sound Tony has ever heard. “And-… A part of me knew it was wrong. There was always this voice in the back of my head telling me this couldn’t be the right way, that there had to be another way. But I still did _everything_ they asked of me.”

Tony moves his arm around Peter’s shoulder, not quite hugging him because he still isn’t sure if he would allow it, but pressing him close to his body, hoping it would give Peter at least some comfort. “But that’s in the past now. You never have to do it again. I promise.”

“I trusted him,” Peter says after swallowing down another sob. “I trusted him so much because…” There’s another sob, and he looks up to Tony, who simultaneously can’t look away and wants nothing else but to look away because the emotions in his eyes are just too much. “Because he looked like you.”

From all the things Tony thought Peter could say, this one never crossed his mind. Blinking stupidly, he asks breathlessly, “What?”

Peter looks away again and clears his throat, trying to hold himself together long enough to explain what he just said. “Wh-When I first woke up, he came into my room. I didn’t know who I was, I didn’t know he was, but there was this… certainty that I could trust him. That I was safe with him and that I could trust him and that he cared for me. My subconsciousness recognized him, and that’s why I did everything he asked of me. That’s why I believed every lie he told me, even though my dreams showed me this – this lab, Ned, my old apartment, _you_ – and he changed them, somehow, made me believe another version of it, a version that included _him_. And all just because his hair looked like yours and he had a goatee like yours and-“ Another sob finds its way out of his mouth. “His name is Thomas. But I don’t even know if that’s his real name, because-“

“Because Thomas is close to Tony,” he finishes the sentence, the meaning of what Peter just said slowly sinking in. No wonder he doesn’t want to look at Tony – all he sees is the person who misused his trust and lied to him. Peter nods before he breaks down, unable to keep his emotions in. Tony doesn’t even wait a nanosecond before engulfing him in a hug, holding him as close as he can, gently rocking him back and forth. To his surprise, Peter melts into the hug, grabbing his arms to ground himself while he sobs and wails about all his pain and sorrow from the last two years.

A new kind of anger bubbles up in Tony, one that makes the anger from a few minutes ago pale in comparison. Because that bastard used their bond, their trust, their love to cause Peter this much pain. That makes Tony sick. And angry. So unspeakable angry that someone has the audacity to something like that. All he wants to do is find that man and do unspeakable things to him. How dares he to hurt his kid in a way like this?

But first, Tony has to take care of his kid.

For nearly five minutes, Tony simply holds Peter, giving him every bit of comfort he can while the boy lets his sadness go. Eventually, when Peter’s breaths actually sound like breaths again and not heartbreaking sobs, Tony says: “I’m gonna shave my beard.”

“What?” Peter croaks, but makes no effort to lift his head from the place against his chest.

“I don’t want you to see him when you look at me,” Tony explains, trying to keep the iciness out of his voice and failing at it. “So, the beard’s gotta go. And I can dye my hair. Pepper always teases me about the grey in it, anyway. I’m thinking about hot rod red with golden tips.”

“No,” Peter objects with a surprisingly steady voice, lifting his head just enough to look him in the eyes, his shining with determination. “No, I don’t want you to change anything. I don’t want him to have that kind of power over you. It’s bad enough that he turned me into a bad person.”

“Peter, you’re not a bad person, you hear me?” To underline his words and make sure that he’s listening to him, Tony holds his face in both of his hands, turning his head so that he’s looking into his eyes. “Just because you’ve done a few bad things –“

“More than a few,” he says in a broken voice, one that stabs Tony’s heart.

Trying to keep calm, Tony keeps going. “Those don’t erase all the good you’ve done before, and the good you’re still capable of doing. You’re not doomed to be evil, Peter. You can change. Like Stitch did. Like Darth Vader at the end of Return of the Jedi did. Like all of us did. Nobody is perfect. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, but that doesn’t mean we have to stay on that path.” Peter doesn’t believe him, Tony recognizes it in the way he casts his eyes down. “Barnes and Nat experienced similar things you did. And they came back from it, they were able to turn their life around.”

His words still don’t reach Peter, and Tony thinks back to his conversation with Natasha earlier. Maybe… it’s actually worth a shot. Taking a deep breath, he begins to tell his story. “Before I became Iron Man, they called me the Merchant of Death.” That grabs Peter’s attention, his eyes snapping back to him. “I made weapons, like my father before me, and we made a fortune from it. For most of my life, I never thought twice about it, pacifying my conscience by saying the army needs it to defend our country, to establish peace. During the day, I built weapons of mass destruction, and at night, I slept in silk sheets, rolling in money. Then… I went to Afghanistan for a weapon demonstration.”

“What happened?” Peter asks when Tony doesn’t continue.

Memories flash across Tony’s mind. The place where his arc reactor used to be aches. “I was attacked. By the weapons I designed myself, that had been sold underhand and in secret. Terrorists kidnapped me, blew a hole into my chest – which I only survived thanks to a very brave and brilliant man –, and demanded that I built them more weapons. But instead, I built the first Iron Man suit out of scraps from old weapons. When I got back, I shut down the weapon’s department immediately, and started my life as Iron Man, determined to make a stop to all those who misuse my weapons.”

For a second, he thinks about that cave in Afghanistan, about Yinsen, about Obie. All that simultaneously seemed like it had been yesterday and a lifetime ago. Peter’s eyes are still on him, and Tony pulls himself back into the now. “For most of my life, I thought I did the right thing, but my weapons caused pain to so many people. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about it. It’s the reason why I fly around the world and do my best to help the people who need it. To make up for all the mistakes I made. And if I can find redemption, then so can you, because you’re already so much better than me.”

“I’m not-“

“Yes, you are, Peter. Because when you were fourteen years old and got superpowers, you decided to use them to help people instead of showing them off to your friends. When I offered you a place in the Avengers team, you turned it down because you thought you could help people better when you stay on the ground and help the little guy. It is impossible for you to just stand by and do nothing when someone needs help. And even if you think you’re not that person right now, I _know_ you can be him again.” Peter’s eyes are welling up again, and following a basic instinct inside him, Tony brushes a hand through his curls. “It’s not an easy thing. In fact, it’s one of the most difficult things you’ll ever have to do, and there will be so many times where you think it’ll be pointless, but I _promise_ you it’s not. The last two years don’t define you, Peter. You are _not_ evil.”

Peter buries his head in Tony’s chest, who doesn’t wait a second to wrap his arms around him again, holding him as close as he can. “I feel so alone,” Peter sobs, the words barely intelligible.

Tony holds him even closer. “You’re not alone, Peter. You’re not. You’ve got Ned. You’ve got the Avengers. And you’ve got me. We’re not going anywhere, I promise.” He keeps promising that Peter is not alone, that he will stay by his side, but Tony doubts he can hear him over his sobs. So, everything Tony can do is sit on the cold floor of his lab, hold his kid, plan his revenge on that Thomas guy, and just do his best to comfort Peter, ignoring his own broken heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter ends with a really depressing mood, but when I wrote it I just imagined Tony with a shaved face and hair dyed hot rod red with golden tips. It helps a little bit. 
> 
> Just in case it wasn't really clear: Peter didn't want to go with Tony and didn't want Ned to call him, because Tony reminds Peter of Thomas and therefor of all the betrayal and lies he just discovered. On that note, as much as I want Peter's breakdown in lab to be because Peter felt safe and vulnerable around Tony, it's not that. Peter just reached his breaking point and it didn't really matter who was with him. So, let's all just be glad that Tony has been the one with him for some angsty Irondad. 
> 
> As always, I would love to know what thought about this chapter! ❤ Maybe through a comment or you could come over to my [tumblr](https://jen27ny.tumblr.com/) and tell me there! 
> 
> And as a little spoiler for the next chapter: there will be a reunion! (or maybe more than one?)


	6. Ohana Means Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a moment that seems timeless, Peter only wonders. Wonders how he could have ever believed that HYDRA was his family. How he could’ve ever believed that the shadow of acceptance and comfort he got from them could be the same as the burning, all-consuming feeling of love, joy, safety, and happiness he’s feeling now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left a comment, kudo, or bookmark, I appreciate them so much and I love to find out what you think about this story! :) 
> 
> There's a lot more for me to say at the end of the chapter, so without further ado: Enjoy! <3

Peter wakes up knowing that someone is watching him. His eyes fly open, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight, and his hands reaches underneath his pillow to grab the knife, every muscle in his body already tense, ready to fight.

There’s no knife underneath his pillow. In fact, it’s not even his pillow. Or bed. Or room. When the first wave of confusion ebbs away, Peter remembers. He’s not in a small, impersonal room in some hideout anymore. He’s not with HYDRA anymore. The last two years have been a lie. He’s not an abomination.

A part of Peter is embarrassed about the breakdown he had in the lab, after not only seeing the DNA that proved he wasn’t born with his powers, but also after stepping into the lab he’s been dreaming about for years. About the flying screens that appear with a flick of his wrist that Thomas always said were only a fabrication of his imagination. But then Peter flicked his wrist and a screen appeared, in the middle of the air, hovering there and waiting to be used.

Granted, after everything he learned, a holo-screen felt a bit underwhelming to be the last straw that finally broke the camel’s back and caused his full-on breakdown. But something about the simplicity of it, something about the fact that he’d always dreamt about the place and had always been told that it isn’t real, made it just so much worse.

Tony held him throughout his entire breakdown, telling him over and over that he’s not evil, that he isn’t alone, that everything will be alright. Peter tried his best to believe it, to disassociate Tony and Thomas, to not link the feeling of betrayal and hurt with Tony, but the boy isn’t quite sure if he succeeded. Being held by Tony felt a lot different than being held by Thomas, more intense, like Tony would only let him go if someone cut his arms off.

Peter can’t remember how long they sat on the lab floor, Tony holding him and Peter crying until there were no more tears left, only a hollow, cold, lonely feeling. He was so exhausted afterwards, everything that had happened in the last couple of days finally catching up with him, and Tony saw it. With a gentleness he hadn’t expected after being held in such a firm grip, Tony led him to a room. His room, if he believes Tony’s words. A room so big, Peter seriously wonders what he’s supposed to do with all of this space. There are framed posters (Star Wars posters!) and pictures on the walls, Lego models and books – science books, biographies, fiction – on the shelves, a desk with a computer, a TV with some video game console in front of it, and, of course, the enormous bed he’s lying in right now. Before Peter fell asleep, he’d briefly met the AI named Karen who was more than happy to talk to him again, and absentmindedly wondered about the lack of dust in a room that hadn’t been used for two years, but before he could find an answer, he was already asleep.

Now, he’s wide awake. He rolls around, and blinks when he sees someone standing in the open door. A someone who’s a lot shorter than Peter has expected. The light from the hallway makes it difficult to see anything else but the silhouette of that someone, who still only stands there, one hand up high on the door knob, just watching him. Peter takes a second to listen to their heartbeat. It’s a bit faster, but not in a way that makes him think they’re scared but excited. “Karen, could you give me some light?” he asks, deciding that he’s probably not going to get any more sleep.

“ _Of course, Peter_ ,” Karen answers, the room slowly getting illuminated in soft light. Out of the corner of his eyes, Peter sees the clock on his night stand. Barely half past five in the morning. He’s slept for more than twelve hours. Not that surprising, seeing that he hadn’t really slept in several days and his body is still healing the last bruises from his fight against the Avengers.

The person at the door turns out to be a little girl who keeps staring at him with big eyes completely unashamed. She has long, brown hair and big brown eyes, dressed in a bright pajama, a red and blue ball-ish thing pressed to her chest. The tension that filled Peter’s body just moments before eases away at the sight. The urge to wrap a blanket around her and hold her close bubbles up in Peter’s chest. He thinks it’s because she’s a child and that’s what you do with children.

For about a minute, they just stare at each other, both assessing the other. Then, the girl says: “Are there any presents in here?”

Peter blinks. “What?”

“Christmas presents,” the girl elaborates, like it explains everything. It explains nothing. “Last year, Santa hid them here because they didn’t all fit onto his sleigh and we have so much space here. That’s what Daddy said when I found them.”

“And who is your daddy?”

The girl giggles like it’s an especially amusing question. “ _Everyone_ knows Daddy. He’s a superhero! Iron Man!”

A lightbulb lights up in Peter’s head, thinking back to the conversation he had with Tony in the car. “You’re Morgan.”

“Uh-huh,” she nods, swaying forward and back, like she can’t decide if she wants to run back into the hallway or step further into the room. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Peter,” he answers, sitting up in his bed.

“What are you doing in this room?” she asks, the whereabouts of the Christmas presents seemingly forgotten. For such a young kid, her speech is surprisingly articulate and sharp, only stumbling over a few syllables. Morgan stops swaying and instead walks up to his bed, clutching the ball in her arms against her chest with both arms. From this distance, Peter can see what appears to be legs or some strings attached to the ball, a black spider symbol on the back. There’s an itch in his head, but before he can think more about it, Morgan repeats her questions.

“I sleep here,” Peter says, not knowing what else to say. Sure, Tony told him this is his room and for him to use, but there’s something that keeps Peter from making that commitment. There’s a small voice in his head, telling him that he shouldn’t throw himself into a new home, a new family, so fast. After all, the last time he did that, it turned out to be a complete lie. 

“Daddy says nobody is allowed to be in here,” Morgan says, taking a seat at the foot of the bed, looking at him with curious eyes.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s my brother’s room and he will need it when he comes back.”

Peter’s heart skips a beat, a warmth burning through his veins, turning the lingering rest of the tiredness in his bones into attention. “Your brother?”

“Uh-huh. He’s not here right now, but he will come back. And then he’ll need his room to play with me.” Suddenly, Morgan thrusts the ball she’s been holding forward for Peter to see. It’s a spider plushie; a badly made one. “He made Spidey for me. And Spidey is my favorite toy!”

The itch in his head turns into a vibration. The tips of his fingers start to prickle, like someone pricks them with tiny needles. Unknown excitement fills him.

Footsteps hurry down the hallway, and before Peter can sort out the feelings inside him, Steve Rogers stands in the doorway. His eyes fly from Morgan to Peter and back, probably trying to figure out if the child is in any danger. Peter doesn’t really blame him – after all, he electrocuted the soldier not too long ago. A bit tentatively, Steve steps into the room. “Morgan,” he says in a soft voice, “you know you’re not supposed to go in here.”

“I was looking for Christmas presents!” she announces, bouncing on the bed with excitement.

“Sweetheart, Christmas is still two days away. And you’re going to celebrate it at the lake house. Why should any presents be in here?”

“They were in here last year.”

Steve turns to Peter as he sits down next to Morgan, who doesn’t wait a second to climb into his lap. Despite Peter’s first impression of Steve, the strong fighter with a shield that he can wield with a deathly precision, he looks absolutely harmless now. But maybe that’s because there’s a little girl in his lap right now, obviously thinking of him as a giant teddy bear and not a fighter. “Morning, Peter. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He did sleep well. A part of him had feared that his dreams would be as confusing as the last one he had, the one after he met Wanda for the first time, but there weren’t any dreams at all. Peter can see that Steve wants to ask more about what happened the day before, but he’s not quite ready to talk about it just yet. “So, are you on babysitting duty?”

To Peter’s relief, Steve chuckles, accepting the change of the topic. “I voluntarily look after her if she decides that she doesn’t need any more sleep in the morning.” To underline his words, he tickles Morgan who awards him with a giggle. Peter can’t help but grin at that sound. “I don’t really sleep that much. If I’m not looking after this one, I usually go for a morning run.”

“Morning run, huh? Doesn’t sound so bad. Can I join you?”

That seems to take Steve by surprise. “Seriously?” Peter nods. During the last two years, he ran a lot. _A lot_. It wasn’t like there were a lot of things to do besides missions or training or the few times he was allowed in the lab. When he runs, his mind empties out, driving out all the questions that are troubling him. This feels like a good time for a run. “I mean, sure. Of course.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because I am. Whenever I asked you before if you would like to join me, you always made some pop culture reference I didn’t understand and said no, Queens.”

“Queens?” Peter asks. Morgan is busying herself by walking Spidey up Steve’s arm and then over his head, singing a soft tune of a made-up song under her breath. The superhero just sits still, like this is something that happens regularly.

“It’s, uh… it’s just what I used to call you. A nickname.”

“And what did I call you?”

To Peter’s surprise, Steve lets out a burst of laughter, one that shakes his entire body and causes Spidey to jump dramatically down onto the bed. “Honestly? You kinda got stuck on Mr. America, no matter how often I told you to drop the formalities.”

“Well, I can drop it now,” Peter says, a smirk pulling at one corner of his lips, “America.” Steve laughs again and Morgan joins him, even though Peter doubts she knows what’s going on.

There are more footsteps that are running down the hallway to his room. Peter hears a somewhat irregular heartbeat that he already knows like his own. “And that would be your daddy woken up by FRIDAY because you went into a room you’re not allowed to go into,” Steve says in a sing-song voice, tickling Morgan again, who has the audacity to not look even a little bit bashful.

True to his words, only a second later Tony appears in the door, panicking, hair standing up in every direction, looking like he just rolled out of his bed. Like always when he looks at the man, Peter is reminded of Thomas for a fraction of a second, but he pushes it away with a new kind of determination. Thomas is the imposter. Tony is the original. Thomas is the liar. Tony is safe. He repeats the mantra two times before the sudden tension disappears out of Peter’s shoulders.

Tony gives himself a second to catch his breath and collect his composure. He succeeds at one of those things. “What kind of party is going on here?” he asks as he joins them. His entire posture screams calmness and no-worry, but Peter isn’t fooled by it. The tightness around his eyes and his slightly frantic movements betray him. “And why am I not invited? Did my invitation get lost?”

“I was looking for Santa’s presents!” Morgan explains, standing up from Steve’s lap and jumping into Tony’s waiting arms.

“It’s not Christmas yet.”

“But maybe Santa is early.”

“Or maybe you’re just impatient. And do you know that Santa, instead of giving them presents, takes all the toys away from impatient kids?”

“No!” Morgan wails, throwing her head back in a dramatic display of despair, almost falling out of Tony’s arm in the process. Steve instinctively holds out his arms, ready to catch her, but she stays safe and secure in Tony’s arms. “No, I’m not impatient!”

“You sure?”

“Yes! I promise!”

“Well, then, I think your toys are safe. For now.” When Morgan isn’t in danger of falling down anymore, Tony looks to Peter, a small, apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry she woke you up.”

Peter shakes his head. “It’s fine. I slept long enough anyway.”

“Peter wants to join me for my morning run,” Steve says, standing up from the bed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Tony raises a surprised eyebrow. “Really?” Peter nods, getting out of the bed himself. Now that every little trace of tiredness is gone, lying down or sitting still seems impossible. “That’s… very new. But okay. You do you.”

“You know, Tony, you’re always welcome to join us for a run.”

“Say those words to me one more time, Capsicle, and I give Morgan your shield to go sledding.”

“Oh, please!” Morgan screams in excitement.

“I need coffee before I can deal with any of this,” Tony announces, ambling out of the room. Steve leaves, too, telling him to meet him outside in a few minutes. Peter takes a minute, takes another look around the room, thinks about the last few minutes and the atmosphere… Peter can’t even describe it. It was warm. He felt safe. And… happy. He’d been happy. With a new boost of excited energy, Peter goes looking for any clothes that still fit him.

Running with Steve is easy. He’s not one of those people who talk while running, and their paces match. For about an hour, they just run in a comfortable silence, side by side, across the dark compound, ground frozen but free of snow. Peter can feel the cold taking a bite at his bones, just like it always does, but the thought that the warm (in more ways than one) compound is right there for him to return to makes it bearable.

Peter also gets a chance to think about his and Tony’s conversation again. Yesterday, Tony’s words sounded too good to be true, too hopeful, like an utopian idea that is completely out of reach for him. But now, he’s more optimistic. The things he’s done in the last two years as Siegfried have been horrible. But he is Spider-Man. He is strong, he is sticky, he can fly through the air like gravity doesn’t exist for him, he hears heartbeats from two rooms down, he can catch bullets without even looking at them – he _can_ change. He can be a good person, someone who helps people.

A friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man.

Peter knows it’s not going to be easy. But things that are worthwhile are rarely accomplished easily. Besides, there’s an entire team of superheroes who want to help him. All he has to do is trust them. The first, enormous, very scary step.

After their run and a warm shower that heats his body up again, Peter makes his way to the kitchen. There are voices; Tony’s, Morgan’s, and a woman’s one he doesn’t recognize. For a second, he thinks about turning away, hiding in his room – but what then? Waiting for a way to finally find May? For what reason? He’s pretty sure Tony won’t lie to him either, even though he has to actively remind himself that Tony is not Thomas. Besides, he likes Morgan. There’s something about her that makes it impossible for him to not like her.

With his heart thundering against his ribcage, Peter enters the kitchen, trying his best to look as confident as he can. Around the kitchen island sit Tony, Morgan – who’s busy shoveling brightly colored cornflakes into her mouth – and a woman he recognizes from the photos of Ned’s phone. He’s pretty sure she’s Tony’s fiancée, Pepper Potts. Tony’s description of her was pretty accurate. She does look like she has her shit sorted.

Pepper is the first one to notice him. Her eyes dart to him the second she notices his movement by the door. Peter can pinpoint the exact moment she recognizes him; her eyes going wide, her heart skipping a beat, a small gasp. It still feels weird seeing how emotional people get over seeing him when Peter has close to no idea who he was to them. “Peter,” she breathes.

At once, Tony turns around in his chair, and Peter gives a small, almost timid smile. Somehow, he suddenly feels like he barged into a private moment, one that he has no right to be part of. However, before he can make up an excuse and go back to his room and hide, Tony starts to smile, beckoning him closer. “I see you survived your morning run.”

“I see you got your coffee,” Peter answers, a pointed look to the steaming mug that is filled with black liquid. Tony chuckles and pulls a stool out for him. Still feeling a bit out of place, Peter sits down and gives Pepper, who is still staring at him with wide eyes, a small smile. “You must be Pepper Potts.”

Pepper blinks once and then, with a practiced routine that seriously impresses Peter, she pulls herself out of the stupor, returning his smile, all evidence of her emotional distress from mere seconds ago gone without a trace. “Indeed, I am,” she says politely, a breath of professionalism to it. “I know you don’t remember me, but I am very happy to see you again, Peter.”

Peter feels his cheeks heat up, and he looks over to the mess Morgan is making. “Are, uh… Are you an Avenger, too?”

Pepper laughs softly, and Tony answers, “If Pepper were in the superhero business, we would all be out of business. Seriously. Just one look from her and no bad guy would dare to crawl out of his secret lair anymore.”

“Well, maybe I should go into that business, if it means you finally have the time to clean out the garden shed, like you said you would do weeks ago.”

“I _am_ going to do it, honey, but do you want me to tell the UN I can’t help them because I have to tidy up the shed? I’m sure they’d be very understanding about it.”

Pepper doesn’t react to the sarcasm in Tony’s voice, only rolling her eyes at him. “I’m the CEO of Stark Industries,” she explains to Peter, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Stark Industries?”

“My company,” Tony says. At Peter’s confused look on his face, he continues: “SI is the leading developer of clean energy, and we make other little fun stuff. Like phones.” Tony pulls something out of his pocket, sliding it in front of Peter. It’s a phone, the display cracked in several places, looking like a spiderweb. “Someone your age without a phone is basically impossible. This one is your old one, by the way. The model is pretty much outdated, but… all your old stuff is on there. Thought it might help you. Plus, it also has Ned’s number. Just in case you want to pester him.”

Peter stares at the phone like it’s some groundbreaking phenomena, like something that is straight up out of a fairytale. He can’t explain why it feels like that, it just does. For a second, he toys with the idea of unlocking the phone, looking through it, maybe finding a way to reach May – but then, he pushes that thought aside. Either out of fear of what he might find or because he doesn’t want to be impolite, Peter doesn’t know. “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he says earnestly, sliding the little device into his pocket. “So, uh, do you all live here?”

“We have three houses!” Morgan yells, catapulting some of the cornflakes that have been in her mouth onto the table, holding up three fingers. “This one, the one in the city, and the lake house. That one has a lake.” Peter nods, like he really needed that extra explanation to figure out that the lake house has a lake.

“We split our time,” Pepper explains. “And, actually, we would be at the lake house if someone didn’t cause some trouble yesterday.”

Contrary to Peter’s first thought that Tony had caused said trouble (he gets the feeling that that is a common pattern), Pepper gives her daughter a pointed look, who – thankfully – swallows down the cereals before answering. “But Max made Lucy cry, Mommy! I had to help her! She’s my friend!”

“We don’t hit other people, Morgan. We talk to them.”

“I did talk to him! I told him to stop and that he was being mean.”

“You still hit him.”

“Because he wasn’t listening, and Daddy said when people don’t listen you have to hit them.”

“Which is why we came here, so Daddy could clarify what he meant by that statement,” Pepper says in an icy tone, eyes zeroing in on Tony. Peter understands what Tony meant when he said no one would dare to come out of their lair anymore. That look is terrifying.

“And I did!” Tony quickly defends himself, doing absolutely anything to not be on the receiving end of that stare anymore. Peter would do the same. “I told her I was just being silly and that you don’t hit people. Right, Morguna?” Morgan nods, back to inhaling the cereals. “See? All good now.”

Pepper sighs deeply, but Peter can’t quite tell if it’s because she’s annoyed or because she tries her best not to laugh at the ridiculous wide grin Tony is sporting. Peter has a feeling she’s quite often in that dilemma. “I’m going to give this one here a bath,” she announces, lifting Morgan out of her chair and into her arms, while Morgan tries to stuff as many cereals into her mouth as she can, “before I have an aneurysm from hearing more of those _silly_ things you tell our daughter.”

“Absolutely brilliant idea!” Tony agrees, leaning back on his stool to keep his eyes on Pepper and Morgan as they walk out of the kitchen. “Like all of your ideas! The best ideas in the world from the best woman in the world!”

“You hear that, Momo?” Pepper purrs in a sweet voice, loud enough to be carried back in the kitchen. “Daddy still thinks his flattery will get him anywhere.”

Morgan giggles. “Daddy is silly.”

“Yes, he is.” Peter could hear the smile in Pepper’s voice even without his enhanced hearing. There’s a sappy smile on Tony’s face as he keeps staring at the empty corridor, like he can still see the two of them. It’s a good look on his face, Peter decides. A soft one, full of love.

A loud rumble from Peter’s stomach breaks the atmosphere. As if he could cushion the noise with it, he slings his arms around his midriff, face burning once more with embarrassment, but Tony only jumps to his feet. “You must be starving,” he announces – Peter is, in fact, very hungry – and opens the fridge, throwing more and more food on the table. “When was the last time you ate? Those gummy worms during the movie? That’s not even enough for someone with a normal metabolism. I’m not even sure those gummy worms can be classified as food. What’s in them besides sugar and food coloring?” Before Peter can even open his mouth to protest, Tony puts a plate in front of him, starting to put some toast on it.

“I can do it myself,” Peter says, snatching the knife out of Tony’s hand before he can start making him a sandwich. Tony rolls his eyes and pours him some orange juice before taking another sip of his coffee.

“How did you sleep?” Tony asks after Peter wolfed down half of the toast. Peter already expected the question, considering the way he had eyed him since he woke up this morning.

Against his own will, Peter feels the muscles in his back tense, the suspicion that this isn’t just small talk crawling into his head. “Good.”

“Any dreams?”

Peter’s eyes snap up to him. There’s a tightness in Tony’s voice. For a second, he thinks about playing dumb, but in the end he just puts down the rest of his toast, giving the superhero in front of him all of his attention. “If you want to know whether or not I got any of my memories back, then you can just ask me.”

Tony blinks once, twice, before his shoulders sink down, smiling almost sadly into his mug. “You’re a lot more perceptive now. I have to get used to it.” Peter doesn’t know what or if he should answer that, so he stays quiet as Tony downs the rest of his coffee. “Okay. So, did you remember anything?”

“No.” Tony hums in a way that could either be indifference or disappointment. Peter tries not to think too much about it, and eats the rest of his toast before he asks: “What did the wi-… Wanda do to me?”

Peter holds Tony’s gaze. He can see that the man doesn’t really want to talk about it, probably because sending someone into someone else’s head is not the nicest thing to do. But, eventually, Tony gives in. Sniffs once, refills his coffee mug, circles the kitchen island until he’s next to Peter again and sits down. The stalling begins. He takes his time to take a sip from his coffee. Blowing the steam away. Grabbing a tangerine and starts to peel it, before putting it on Peter’s plate. “You need more vitamins,” he says almost absentmindedly.

Peter pushes the plate out of Tony’s reach. “I think I need some answers. I _want_ answers. And I already did too much to get them just to give up now.”

Tony wants to know what Peter means by that, it’s written all over his face. Peter can also see that a not-really-small part of him doesn’t want to know it. He sniffs once more, his right hand massaging his left wrist. “Wanda has special powers, I’m sure you already noticed,” Tony begins to explain, looking anywhere but at Peter. “One of them is seeing into other people’s minds. And that’s what she did with you. She took a peek inside, trying to figure out what HYDRA did to you, why you couldn’t remember anything. They built some kind of wall or whatever, locking all your old memories away. She tried taking that wall down, but… well…”

“She got shot,” Peter finishes the sentence.

Tony nods once. “She managed to crack the wall. We weren’t sure if it would be enough for it to crumble or if it did anything at all. But, considering that you’re sitting next to me, the crack let at least some memories ooze through.” Tension builds up between them, a heavy one that makes breathing more difficult, like something is pressing against your chest. Peter knows Tony’s next words before he’s even saying them out loud. “She could go back in your head, y’know. Turn that wall into dust, give you your memories back.”

It’s not a suggestion that comes completely out of the blue. If something isn’t finished, you work on it until it is. It’s simple, basic logic. And yet Peter hesitates. The idea of someone – even if it’s an Avenger, someone everyone tells him he can trust, someone who’s been friendly to him – going inside his head and messing with his memories makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He’s reminded of Thomas, and the way he warped his memories with that freaky chair of his. No, Peter’s not ready to let someone else inside his head again. Not yet.

So, he shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

To his credit, Tony looks disappointed for only a second before he nods. “That’s fine. Don’t worry about it, buddy. There’s no pressure.”

Despite his words, Peter does feel the pressure to at least explain himself. “It’s just that-… Having someone in your head-“

Tony shakes his head, lying a hand (rough and calloused, unexpected and expected at the same time) on Peter’s hand to stop him. “No explanation needed. I know how scary the thought of someone else playing around in your head can be.” Peter gives him a confused look, and to his mild surprise, Tony actually elaborates. “When we first met Wanda, she wasn’t on our side. She let us see things that led to… other things. Bad other things. After that, she didn’t really do all that mind-stuff anymore. Anyway, my point is, most of us have experiences with someone messing with our heads. Nobody is going to blame you for being hesitant, okay? Nobody. Recovery takes time, and you’re allowed to take all the time you need, whether that’s a week, a month, a year, or a decade. Hell, even if you decide to never let Wanda in your head again to help you with your memory, that’s fine, too. We just want you to get better, Peter.”

“I fought against you,” Peter says, somewhat dumbfounded, not quite believing that someone would offer him so much support and acceptance just like that. It’s never this easy.

Tony only laughs, one that lights up his face and shakes his entire body. “Buddy, if we would hold grudges against everyone in the team we fought against, then we wouldn’t be a team. But… Ohana, right? We’re a family. Families fight, they drive each other crazy, and more often than not you want to rip their heads off, but we still help each other.”

Peter has to look away because the love in Tony’s eyes is just too much right now, and he really doesn’t want to start crying. It feels like something is tied around his chest, squeezing his insides together, but in a good way. Like his chest can’t hold all the emotions he’s feeling and is close to combusting.

There’s only one way out of this: deflecting.

“Are we related?” Peter asks, eyes on the slices of fruit on his plate.

If Tony is bothered by the sudden change of topic, he doesn’t show it. “No, we’re not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am. I actually checked that. A few times. Not related at all.” He takes another sip from his coffee. “Why do you ask?”

“Because Morgan called my room her brother’s room.” (Only later would Peter notice that he called it his room, that he made the commitment of accepting a place with them after seeing those emotions in Tony’s eyes.)

Tony tries to keep his reaction as minimal as he can, Peter has to give him credit for it. That being said, Peter still notices the way he immediately stiffens, the way his heart beats a bit faster, the way he’s got trouble catching his breath for a second. Not a comfortable question then. “I don’t want to overwhelm you,” Tony eventually says, voice uncharacteristically insecure, “because you don’t know who we are or who you are. And you literally told me you didn’t want to see me less than twenty-four hours ago.”

“Ned said we’re close,” Peter interrupts, opting not to tell Tony how close his friend told him they were, not wanting to influence Tony’s words. After all, maybe Ned exaggerated. Even during the short amount of time they spent together, Peter already noticed that Ned has the tendency to blow things out of proportion, either out of excitement or for a dramatic effect.

(Thinking that maybe Ned had exaggerated, that maybe they aren’t as close as Peter believed they are, stings a little, which he tries – and fails – to ignore.)

“We were,” Tony agrees, making Peter’s heart beat twice as fast. Then, Tony takes a deep breath, making a point of holding his gaze. “Biologically speaking, you’re not my kid. But in all the other ways, you are. And that’s all that matters to me.” There’s a kind of magnetism to Tony’s eyes that doesn’t let Peter go, that forces him to keep looking at him, no matter how everything inside him screams to hide away, because Tony’s words make his skin burn and heart ache and head spin and insides tickle.

The feeling Peter is experiencing right now is so far from anything he’d felt in Thomas’ presence that he seriously wondered how he could confuse those two men. Their cores, the very being of who they are, are completely different.

“Wow, this is awkward,” Tony eventually says and breaks the paralysis Peter has been imprisoned in. The laugh escapes Peter’s mouth before he can think twice about it – and when he does, he realizes he doesn’t care about it at all. “I did not expect such an emotional breakfast.”

“Sorry,” Peter apologizes, slipping a tangerine slice into his mouth, “next time, I’ll give you a warning.”

“Please. My poor heart can’t take that much stress anymore.” Tony empties his coffee mug with one long gulp. “Now, I’m pretty sure Morgan will do her best to hoard all of your attention later because she’s way too spoiled. Which, I have to confess, is pretty much my fault. Anyways, how about a proper tour of the compound before that little monster gets out of the bath?”

* * *

Morgan does demand a lot of his attention, but to be fair, she demands everyone’s attention. And they’re all more than willing to give it to her, either playing pretend, reading her a story, throwing her into the air (and catching her again, of course), or sneaking her a cookie or two when her parents aren’t looking.

The entire team just seems to linger around. Which, again, throws Peter off a lot. He could never imagine HYDRA agents just spending time together to do something fun, not work-related. Some of them, like Steve, Rhodey, or Bucky, train for a bit, but they don’t ask him if he would like to join. Peter isn’t even sure if he really wants to train, anyways, even though that had been a big part of his daily routine before. So, instead he watches Sam and Bucky bicker over the most trivial things, reads Morgan the same book three times, watches Tony argue with some robots, and watches Vision and Morgan play with dolls, which is as weird as it’s fascinating.

At one point, Peter takes a look at his phone. There are hundreds of unread messages, dozens of missed calls. Most of the messages are from Ned, close to four hundred, some asking him to come home, others telling him about things that happened to him, even a few weird pictures with seemingly random captions. There are a lot more messages from the Avengers, from MJ, from – who assumes – are old classmates (who names their kid Flash?), and one from a contact that reads _The Best Aunt In The World_. It only reads _I’m sorry_. After reading that one, he scrolls through the gallery, seeing a lot of the same pictures and videos he’s already seen on Ned’s phone. Before the emotions can get the better of him, he quickly pockets the phone, deciding to have a better look at the rest in private.

Natasha is watching him, Peter can tell. He can also tell that she knows that he knows. Still, he acts like he doesn’t notice her. She’s probably looking for any signs of a breakdown or something. Not that Peter is really blaming her. He’s waiting for another breakdown, too, or just anything that would destroy this peace and acceptance he’s feeling right now.

Something does happen, but it’s not even close to whatever Peter’s mind could come up with.

“ _Boss_ ,” FRIDAY chimes up in the afternoon (they’re all watching a very passive-aggressive match of Jenga between Sam and Bucky that started out with Morgan being part of it but she quickly abandoned the game in favor of getting Natasha to braid her hair – no one is sure if the men have noticed that yet), “ _Mr. Hogan is about to land._ ”

“Thanks, FRI,” Tony answers her, getting up from the couch and snapping his fingers in Peter’s direction. “C’mon, you don’t wanna miss this.”

“Why?” he asks, but gets up anyways, the instinct to follow orders without questioning them still deep inside his bones.

Tony shoots him a smug smile, eyes full of excitement. “What did you want from me in the first place?”

Peter’s heart skips a beat. And then another one. Only when Tony is already on his way outside, Peter somehow manages to move again, hurrying after him, telling himself he shouldn’t get his hopes up, that Tony would’ve given him some kind of warning and not be this dramatic.

(Peter clearly doesn’t remember where Morgan gets her dramatic impulses from.)

He only half-realizes that the others are following them outside and they watch the surprisingly soundless jet land. Peter keeps looking from Tony to the jet, trying to convince himself that this isn’t a dream, that this is real. “But… how-“

“Well, I thought you would want more than just call her,” he answers the unspoken question, obviously very proud of himself. The ramp of the jet lowers itself. “And FRIDAY and I got really good at looking for people in the last two years.”

Tony doesn’t say anything else, which is probably a smart thing, because Peter wouldn’t have listened anyway. Like he’s caught in a trance, Peter can only stare at the ramp, his heart beating in his throat, blocking his airways, making it impossible for him to take a single breath. All he can do is watch as a woman runs down the ramp.

Her hair is a lot shorter. There are more wrinkles on her face, and her skin is tanned. But he recognizes her in a heartbeat – a heartbeat that is so powerful it almost blows up his ribcage. “May.”

May doesn’t slow down, unlike Peter, who is still unable to even produce a single reasonable thought, and then she throws herself into his arms, the force behind it almost enough to make him lose his balance. “Peter,” she cries, barely loud enough to hear, tears streaming down her face.

For a moment that seems timeless, Peter only wonders. Wonders how he could have ever believed that HYDRA was his family. How he could’ve ever believed that the shadow of acceptance and comfort he got from them could be the same as the burning, all-consuming feeling of love, joy, safety, and happiness he’s feeling now? How could he have believed that any other place than right here – in May’s arms, surrounded by the Avengers – is his home? It’s so blatantly clear that this is the truth, that this is real.

“May,” he sobs, his own tears mixing with hers as he buries his head inside her hair, just like he always used to do. His arms circle her as tight as he can without hurting her. May laughs, one that quickly turns into a sob, not that Peter is judging her. He’s a complete mess himself.

For the first time in two years, Peter feels at home.

Time seems unimportant, like it only exists for things less important than this. Even the cold stays out of his bones, as if too afraid to interrupt the moment. Eventually, when the pressure from Peter’s chest has lifted and he’s finally able to draw a breath again without breaking into another fit of sobs, May leans back far enough to look him in the face. Despite the tears that are still running down her cheeks, her smile is blinding, the happiness in her eyes so contagious that Peter can’t help but feel happy, too. “You’re home,” she whispers, running a hand through his hair, “and your hair is longer.”

“Yours is shorter,” he answers, and they both laugh, not because it’s funny or clever, but because they always make bad jokes when they’re together, and they’re together again.

May’s eyes run over his face, like she’s trying to imprint every detail into her memory. Peter can do nothing but watch her, wallowing in the feeling of love and home. “I can’t believe it,” she says. “You’re back. You’re really back, Petey.”

“I’m home,” he says, because he _is_ home. Finally.

May only nods and kisses his cheeks, forehead, nose, brow, every place she can reach. Peter doesn’t stop her. Then, both of them remember that they’re not the only ones standing out here in the freezing cold. She steps out of his arms but holds one of his hands in an iron grip that tells him she won’t let him go again (Peter is fine with it), and walks over to Tony, who stands a couple of feet away from them. Without any hesitation, she throws her free arm around him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers in a very emotional voice.

“Of course,” he answers, returning her hug, “I promised you, didn’t I?” May doesn’t answer, and when Tony lifts his eyes to Peter, he mouths a _thank you_ at him. Tony only smiles.

If Peter didn’t know better, he would guess the Avengers are afraid of May, which is completely ridiculous in Peter’s opinion. And yet everything they do tells the opposite. Steve calls her nothing but ma’am and basically races into the jet to get her bags. Sam doesn’t stop talking, every other sentence a compliment for May, until Pepper tells him to stop. Morgan eyes May with equal parts shyness and curiosity, while May coos over how much she’s grown.

After a comment from Pepper, they all give May and Peter some much needed space, opting to continue entertaining Morgan while the two of them retreat to Peter’s room. The second they are alone, May puts her hands around his face, and he can see that she wants to say something, but he beats her to it. “I don’t have a lot of memories.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, eyebrows pulled together.

Peter takes a deep breath, and just prays that she won’t leave him after she knows the truth. “I only remember the last two years, and the people I stayed with… they told me I’m someone else. They weren’t good people. And I did… bad things for them, believing I did the right thing.” The emotions on May’s face change, and he casts his eyes downward, not wanting to see her rejection. “I’m only here because I had a memory with you and Ben in it. The day I got my acceptance letter from Midtown High.”

“We ate pizza and Thai to celebrate,” May says softly.

Peter nods, relieved that the memory really has been real. “Yeah. And I… I still don’t have any memories of who the Avengers are or anything else, but I just knew I needed to find you. Because you won’t lie to me. Because you can tell me who I am.” He tries his best to keep his voice steady, to not be overwhelmed by his emotions again.

May, however, can see right through that mask. With a whispered _oh, honey_ she pulls his head down to her shoulder, holding him close to herself, rocking him gently. “Peter, you’re not a bad person,” she whispers into his ear. His eyes start to well up again and he takes another deep, shuddering breath to calm himself down. “I know you feel guilty about it. But everyone makes mistakes. Nobody is perfect. The important thing is that you recognize you made a mistake, and that you try your best to not do it again.”

“But I did bad things,” Peter repeats, unable to put the things that haunt him (the smell of fear, the screams of pain, the feeling of blood on his fingers) into words.

“Look at me, honey.” A bit reluctant, he leans back far enough to look her into the eyes. With a small, gentle smile, May wipes the tears from his face. “You’re the kind of person who looks at all the pain and the injustice in the world and thinks it’s your job to fix it, piling that guilt onto your shoulders. You’ve always been that kind of person. That’s the entire reason why you became Spider-Man. Doing a few bad things isn’t going to change who you are, no matter whatever nonsense you’re telling yourself. You can be and you are still a good person, Peter. All this?” She wipes away more tears. “That’s proof that you’re good. You feeling guilty about it and wanting to change is proof. Because someone bad wouldn’t feel like this. Do you understand that?”

Peter only nods, not trusting his voice right now. May wouldn’t lie to him. So, when she says that he’s not a bad person, that he can be good again, he believes it.

May kisses his cheek again. “I love you, honey. Everyone here loves you, and they all just want to help. That’s why you all make such a good team. You all think it’s your job to fix all the problems in the world and not one of you will take no for an answer.”

“Wanda could help me get my memories back,” Peter confesses. “She would need to go into my head.”

“But you’re scared.” Again, he can only nod. May runs her hand through his hair. “It’s okay to be scared, especially if someone messed with your head before. However, sometimes it’s worth doing scary things. To take that leap of faith.”

“What if she gives me any false memories?”

“Have they done that to you before?” There’s a kind of sharpness to May’s voice Peter isn’t prepared for, one that speaks of protectiveness. Peter nods. She takes a deep breath. Peter can hear her heartbeat pick up. “Wanda wouldn’t do that. But if it makes you feel better, I can just tell you if the memories she shows you are real or not. Even the embarrassing ones. _Especially_ the embarrassing ones you would rather forget.”

Somehow, despite all the pain and hurt and the guilt of the entire world sitting on his shoulders, Peter manages to chuckle. “I love you, too,” he says, knowing the words are true deep inside him, and gets rewarded with another kiss on his cheek. Suddenly, the thought of not knowing who he really is unbearable. And with May by his side, with the reminder that Wanda can’t make him believe any lies because May will tell him the truth, Peter feels brave enough to take the risk. “Can you come with me? To tell the others?”

“Honey, if you think I’m letting you out of my sight ever again, you’re sorely mistaken.” This time, they both laugh at it, and for a moment, Peter is truly happy.

Of course, that moment doesn’t last.

The tingle in Peter’s neck jolts awake, making every little hair on his body stand up. Not a second later, a siren screeches. “ _Security breach_ ,” a voice – not FRIDAY or Karen – repeats in an emotionless voice. Peter can hear several small clicking noises, like mechanisms being locked into place.

“Karen, what’s happening?” Peter says, putting his arms around May before he can think twice about, ready to shield her with his body at the slightest movement. His eyes scan the room, looking for possible exit and entry points, looking for places to hide and things to use to fight. The knife is hidden in his belt, his web shooters lying useless on his desk, completely out of web fluid. He curses his previous laziness in choosing to lounge around instead of remaking his best weapon.

“ _There has been a security breach_ ,” the AI answers, a slight edge of panic in her voice.

“Yeah, I got that. What happened exactly?”

_“Someone unauthorized has entered the premises, and is currently trying to hack into the security system.”_

Peter gets a bad feeling. A part of him expected this – he just hoped it wouldn’t happen so soon. “Are they going to be successful?”

“ _That is to be determined. Mr. Stark and the other Avengers are asking for you. They are currently on their way to one of the panic rooms to ensure the safety of the civilians._ ” Peter’s head whips around. May, Morgan, Pepper, that Hogan guy who came with the jet, the other employees in the building. They can’t get hurt. And Peter won’t let that happen. “ _Would you like me to point out the way?”_

“Yes, please.” At once, lights on the ground flash to life, illuminating the way. He doesn’t wait a second before grabbing May’s hand and pulling her along, ears strained for any heartbeat or bullet or grenade that might come close to them. “It’s going to be alright, May, I promise. I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Do you know who they are?” she asks, trying to keep the fear out of her voice and failing at it. It only makes Peter grab her hand tighter.

Something aches in Peter’s chest. He isn’t quite sure what it is, but it makes him angry. “I do,” he answers. “They always came back for me. Even if I didn’t want it.”

In HYDRA, they never had a mission where they had to protect someone, Schneider never taught him how to make someone else’s safety his priority, but his body reacts instinctively to protecting May, always making sure that he’s between her and potential danger, fully aware that he will be the one getting hurt. And Peter is more than fine with it.

It doesn’t take long for them to reach the panic room. Pepper and Morgan are there, Mr. Hogan behind them already in the room. Peter guesses the employees have a panic room closer to their work station, seeing as this is still the private area of the compound. Morgan is crying, her arms tightly wrapped around her mother’s neck, and Pepper and Tony are doing their best to calm her down, whispering in low, tense voices. “It’s going to be alright, sweetie,” Tony says, brushing her hair away. “All of this will be over before you know it.”

Morgan doesn’t look convinced. “Will you get hurt?”

“No, of course not, Morgan. I’ll have my armor, you know that. They can’t hurt me.” This time, Pepper is the one that looks unconvinced, but she only gives Tony a good luck kiss before stepping inside the room.

Peter turns to May, trying to say something, anything that will make her feel better, but his mind comes up empty. He can’t reassure her that he won’t get hurt. In fact, Peter is pretty sure he will get hurt, but he doesn’t really care. Not as long as she – _they_ – will be safe. May knows what’s going through his mind, if the unhappy look in her eyes is anything to go by. However, she only squeezes his hand once more before joining the others in the room.

“Peter,” Tony says, prompting the boy to turn to him. Out of the corners of his eyes, Peter sees Natasha and Steve joining them. Steve carries his shield, and Natasha has a gun strapped to her thigh, as well as some black devices around her wrists. “You should go in there, too.”

“What?” The word is out of Peter’s mouth before he can think twice about it. Tony’s eyes stay hard. “No. No way. Why would I do that?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s not. I’m the only one who knows who’s coming, who knows what they are capable of. And you want to lock me away?” To prove his point, Peter slams the door to the panic room shut. He can hear several locks and mechanism click, securing the room.

“Someone learned to take a stand for himself,” Natasha whispers, almost amused, but a look from Steve tells her it’s not appropriate.

Tony takes a deep breath, putting the casing he’d shown him the day before in the middle of his chest, tapping it twice. The nanobots swarm out of the casing, waving down Tony’s body to form the armor, momentarily distracting Peter. “Peter, I-“

Peter snaps out of awe over the technology. “I can fight.”

“I don’t care-“

“Locking me in that room with them would not only be stupid, but also dangerous.” That seems to grab Tony’s attention long enough for Peter to continue. “They’re here for me, either to capture or kill me. If I’m in that room, all of them become a target by default. And those people are not above killing children. Do you really want to risk that? Risk losing your child?”

“That’s what I’m trying to avoid!” Tony screams, his entire face suddenly full of emotions – fear, anger, desperation. Peter doesn’t know how to respond to that. “I already lost you once, I’m not going to risk that again!”

Peter’s heart is beating in his throat. Yes, Tony told him this morning that he saw him as part of his family, as his kid. But he never thought he would be equal to Morgan, that the man would try to protect him with the same fierceness and love he holds for his biological daughter.

Somehow, that only strengthens his resolve.

Squaring his shoulders and standing as tall as he can, Peter looks right into Tony’s eyes that are screaming with worry and pain, his shoulders rising and falling heavily, heartbeat way too fast. “You can’t forbid me from fighting.”

“Oh, hell yes I can!”

Steve tries to intervene. “We don’t have time for this, they are-“

“No, you can’t,” Peter interrupts him, eyes still trained on Tony. “I’m a legal adult. I’m not a member of the Avengers. You have no authority to tell me what I can and what I can’t do.”

“What?” Tony whispers disbelievingly. Peter wonders if this is the first time he stepped up to him. The warning sirens are still blaring through the entire building. “I have _every_ authority, I made your suit-“

“I’m not wearing your suit, am I? Or any of your technology.” Peter can hear gun fire. They don’t have time for this. “Look, I can fight. I know how to look after myself. I can help. I _need_ to help.”

“He’s right, Tony,” Natasha says. “Peter can help. And they will look for him. This way, we can give him proper back up, make sure he’s not on his own.”

“He doesn’t even have his web shooters,” Tony protests, too stubborn to give in just yet, even though Peter can see his resolve crumbling behind his eyes. 

Peter pulls the knife out of his belt. “I have this. I don’t need more.” There are a thousand questions Tony wants to ask, he can see it in his eyes, but they don’t have the time for them right now. Because every second they stand here is a second they’re leading HYDRA closer to the people they’re trying to protect. “You need to trust me that I can do this. Like I trusted you when I got into your car.” Peter takes another deep breath, ignoring the nervousness that spreads from his chest into his entire body. “Like I will trust Wanda when I let her in my head again.”

He can’t be quite sure what exactly made Tony change his mind – all the arguments, Peter’s persistence, the fact that he changed his mind about letting someone inside his head – but eventually, he accepts it. Not happily, but he does.

“Under one condition,” Tony says, stepping forward and holding his gaze with a kind of magnetism and fierceness that makes it impossible for Peter to look away. “You don’t throw yourself into unnecessary danger. No sacrificing yourself for someone else. Your safety is the priority here, the rest of the team can do the self-sacrificing stuff. You understand me?” Peter nods. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll put yourself first. And don’t even try to lie, you were never good at it anyway.”

Maybe Peter wasn’t a good liar. But Siegfried learned to be one. “I promise.” 

Tony’s eyes fly across his face, Peter isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but he seems to find it, giving Steve and Natasha a sharp nod. “There’re a lot of them,” Steve explains, not wasting any more time, already walking down the hallway, the rest following him. “The others are already outside.”

“It might be a distraction technique,” Peter throws in, “to keep you busy while they try to get me alone.”

“Which will not happen,” Tony says, and it sounds a lot like a vow.

“We will-“

Another jolt shocks Peter’s body. He has no time to warn the other three as an explosion takes out the wall next to them, sending all of them crashing into the opposite wall. For a second, Peter has trouble to focus on anything, to get his senses in order, but that moment is quickly gone, when the tingle in his neck tells him to ignore the pain that benumbed his body and move. He rolls to his side just as the wall he’s been lying against gets riddled with bullets. Men in very familiar uniforms swarm through the hole, firing their guns like mad men, keeping Steve, Natasha, and Tony busy.

(“How many agents does HYDRA have?”, Siegfried asks, looking at the agents that are on their way to the gym.

“We’re constantly growing,” Thomas explains with pride. “More and more people are joining our cause. And you know what happens when you cut off the head of a hydra, right? Two will grow back.”)

Peter gets on his feet – then a punch is thrown his way, followed by another, then another one, and one more. He manages to block them, as well as those that follow, but he recognizes the fighting style at once. He recognizes it, because it’s his own fighting style. Schneider. Peter doesn’t need to look into his face to make sure of it, but he does it anyway. Despite the usual emotionless and professional expression he’s wearing, Peter can see the anger behind his eyes. A true testament to how angry Schneider really is. Kicks follow the punches and the other way around, both of them knowing what the other one plans to do next, reading the tiniest pull of their muscle and reacting to it immediately. They’re locked in a weird dance, neither of them getting the upper hand.

Until Peter realizes he doesn’t have to hold back. During all of their years of training, Peter always held back his strength, because Schneider told him that technique is so much more important than it, that strength without the right method is useless. Besides, Peter barely had his strength under control, too afraid to be seen as an abomination, to be cast away and turned into the enemy. But now, he has the proper technique and he doesn’t have to hold back.

His next kick sends Schneider flying against the rumbles of the exploded wall, giving Peter a chance to catch his breath. A part of him wants to scream at his old trainer, wants to demand answers from him (about why they did it, about if they really thought their plan would work, about if he ever cared, about Wolkow and whether he’s alive or not), but he knows it would be fruitless. Schneider is not the kind to chat during a battle.

So instead he picks up the knife from where it fell out of his hand. “You lied to me,” Peter spits, unable to keep the words in.

Schneider makes an effort to not grimace as he gets up, even though Peter can see the pain in all of his movements. “I never lied to you,” he answers. “I only followed orders.”

Peter doesn’t give himself time to think about the words, doesn’t give the mercy inside him any chance to grow, doesn’t let the false hope that something in the last two years hasn’t been a lie take any roots. He leaps forward again, a scream ripping out of him. Peter doesn’t want to kill again. But there are a lot of other things you can do besides killing (Schneider taught him a lot), and he’s so tempted to do all of them.

Schneider doesn’t have the same morals as Peter.

Just as Peter sees the gun-like device in Schneider’s hand, the vibration in his neck runs down his spine, but it’s too late. He already fired. Something hits his chest, and Peter’s first thought is that it’s not a normal bullet. Because a normal bullet doesn’t send electro shocks through people. As the electricity runs with a ruthless intensity through his body, again and again and again, until Peter’s not quite sure if he’s still alive or dead yet, he appreciates the irony. He electrocuted people, and now he gets electrocuted.

But then, after what felt like a torturous eternity, the pain is suddenly gone. Peter’s first thought is that he finally died – then everything comes crashing back painfully all at once. He hears everything, he sees everything, he feels everything. It drives all the air out of his lungs, and he wants to do nothing more but give in to the promise of closing his eyes and not opening them again.

There’s something on his cheek. Something hard. A voice breaks through the clutter of ear-piercing noises. Peter latches onto that voice immediately, uses it as a red string to find the way out of this damned labyrinth. Finally, he’s close enough to the exit to understand what the voice is saying. “C’mon, buddy!”

His eyes focus on the brown-ish blob of color in front of him, sharpening the features until he looks into Tony’s very distressed face. His helm is retracted, but one gloved hand is pressed against his cheeks. “’m dead?” he asks, not quite knowing what kind of answer he wants.

Tony laughs. Or maybe it’s a sob. Or a sigh of relief. Peter doesn’t have enough control of his senses yet to really make out the fine details. “No,” he answers, joy in his eyes despite the tears welling up in them, “no, you’re not.”

Peter’s head lolls to the side. What he thinks was the bullet lays next to him, a small black thing, barely bigger than a coin. He recognizes it immediately as one of the power sources he built for his web shooters. Again, he gets the irony – almost gotten killed by his own creation. He just wishes the next time the universe tries to be funny, it’s not in a way that hurt him. Then, he sees Schneider lying on the ground. There’s no blood around him, but he’s not moving either, eyes closed, clearly not conscious. Peter is too afraid to listen if he can hear his heartbeat.

Slowly, he notices the stillness around them. A few bodies lay on the floor, all of them HYDRA agents. The other walls are damaged, too, a few windows shattered, half-destroyed furniture, smoke whirls between the rubble. He doesn’t see Natasha or Steve, and he wants to turn his head to find out if he just missed them, if they lay among the bodies on the ground. But moving his body _hurts_. The second he tries to move a muscle in the slightest, an aftershock runs through his body, making him yell out in pain.

“Don’t move, Peter,” Tony urges him, the pressure of his hand on his cheek increasing. “It’s fine. Everyone is fine. It’s over. You hear me?”

It’s not over.

Peter sees the shadow forming in the smoke, and in an instant, even before the trusty tingle in his neck can wake up, he knows who it is, knows what’s going to happen. Pushing through the pain and the immobility of his body, Peter springs forward, turning Tony around and underneath him, his exposed head out of the way, just as the shot rings through the air.

A sharp pressure rips through his body, starting from a point close to his left shoulder blade.

Then, there’s only pain and darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Fun" fact: Siegfried is the name of a hero in a German legend who dies because someone he trusts throws a spear at his back, impaling him. The legend is very Game of Throne-esque and kinda wild and one of the biggest inspirations behind this story. 
> 
> I was very self-conscious about the fight scene because I felt like it would be too short or maybe anti-climatic, but the more I thought about it, the more I came to the conclusion that a different version of Peter's fighting scenes wouldn't make any sense, because a) it wouldn't make sense to send anyone else but Schneider after Peter because he's the only one with a chance to win against him, and b) they want to keep the fight as short as possible, knowing they can't keep the other Avengers busy forever. So, yeah, any other version than this didn't make any sense for me. 
> 
> Some of you might want to scream at me. That's fine, just leave me a comment :)


	7. A Little Bit Of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, he thinks, no, this can’t be happening.  
> “Peter?” Finally breaking out of his stupor, Tony moves his hand around the boy’s back, telling himself that this isn’t real, that this is only a cruel joke his mind is playing on him – then, he feels the small hole. When he lifts his hand again, there’s red liquid running down his glove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Just like always, thank you so much to everyone who leaves a comment, kudo, and bookmark!
> 
> I'm not quite sure if anyone is reading this note anyway, because of the way the last chapter ended, so I'm not really going to say anything here. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It happens so fast Tony only realizes what happened when it’s already over. One second, he’s kneeling over Peter, making sure he’s fine and that not every cell in his body is fried by that electric shock, and the next he’s lying on his back, Peter above him, limp and unconscious. The echo of a gunshot rings in his ears.

 _No_ , he thinks, _no, this can’t be happening_.

“Peter?” Finally breaking out of his stupor, Tony moves his hand around the boy’s back, telling himself that this isn’t real, that this is only a cruel joke his mind is playing on him – then, he feels the small hole. When he lifts his hand again, there’s red liquid running down his glove.

“FRIDAY, scan,” he orders with a shaking voice, doing his best to sit up without moving Peter’s body, willing the nausea that builds up inside him down. “Tell the med bay to prep the second they get out of the panic room.”

Tony doesn’t hear the AI’s answer, because a movement catches his eyes. A person steps through the broken wall, gun still raised and pointed at him. It’s a man, dark hair combed to the side, face shaved clean. Tony hears himself growl, clutching Peter’s body closer to his own, one hand pressing against the wound on his back. Where the hell is the rest of his team? How many HYDRA goons were there that they needed that long to tie them all up for SHIELD to pick up?

The man’s eyes flicker to Peter, regarding him with an analytical gaze. “I guess the project failed,” he says disappointingly. “Pity. For a while, I was quite positive it would succeed.”

At once, Tony knows who that man is. “You’re Thomas.” He looks for similarities between them, looks for what Peter reminded of Tony, but he can’t see it. Maybe he’s too angry. Maybe the goatee really makes all the difference. Maybe Tony just doesn’t want to see anything at all that links him to the man that hurt Peter in so many ways.

Thomas has the audacity to smile. “No. But he knew me as Thomas, yes.”

“Because Thomas is close to Tony.”

“Well, I didn’t start growing that hideous beard because I’m such a fan of you, Stark,” he says with an accent all too close to Tony’s.

Tony already knew they used his likeness and Peter’s connection to him to get the boy to trust them, but hearing Thomas admit to it feels like a slap across the face. He wants to end this, wants for this nightmare to finally be over, but he has to know why. If not only for his sake, then for Peter’s to give him some closure. “So, this was what? A new version of the Winter Soldier?”

“The Winter Soldier failed because instead of giving him a connection to us, they only turned him on and off like a machine,” Thomas explains in an almost bored voice, like he can’t believe he has to explain his evil plan to Tony. “It was inevitable that he would remember his connection to his past life. After all, people are not machines, they treasure their meaningful connections to others.”

“Which is why you gave Peter a meaningful connection to you.”

“Obviously.” Thomas shrugs once, giving off the impression that this is just a little set back in his research. Then, a flash of anger crosses his face, looking more emotional in this one moment than he had in their entire conversation. “And it worked pretty well until your witch decided to mess up my work.”

It’s this exact moment – the moment Tony realizes that Thomas cares more about his project than Peter – that Tony decides he doesn’t need any more answers. “Like you said, we treasure meaningful connections.”

Tony raises his hand. He spent days perfecting the power behind his repulsors, checking it over and recalculating it weekly to make sure the fire power doesn’t accidently kill someone. He knows the inner workings of his suit better than he knows himself, he can feel the power behind his shots without FRIDAY showing him it on the HUD.

The power of his repulsor climbs up and up and up, matching the levels of anger that are pulsing through Tony’s body. Then, he fires, not caring if SHIELD has to sweep his particles together to collect him. All Tony cares about is that that man hurt Peter, and Tony wants him as far away from his boy as possible.

The second that man is out of his sight, Tony concentrates on what’s important again. Peter. Making sure that he’s still applying pressure to the wound, Tony stands up, shifting Peter in his arms before racing down to the med bay. “FRIDAY, give me an update.”

“ _The medical team has been released and is preparing the operating room_ ,” the AI explains. “ _The other Avengers are currently working on rounding up the intruders, helping the civilians out of the panic room, and removing larger parts of concrete caused by the explosions. No civilian has been harmed. SHIELD is already on its way.”_

“What about Peter? Did the bullet hit anything vital?”

“ _The bullet missed Mr. Parker’s heart by 1.5 inches, and is currently still in his body_.” Tony lets go of a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “ _However, it seems that the electric shock had impacted his enhanced healing factor.”_

“Impacted it? What does it mean?”

_“It does not seem to be working, boss. My scans could not determine whether it will be temporary or permanent.”_

Tony tries to not think about the fact that the electric shock could’ve done just more than that, and focuses on getting to the med bay faster instead. A part of him is aware that he’s rambling promises that everything will be okay and that Peter will be fine, his pleas falling against deaf ears. The second he reaches the med bay, there’s already personnel waiting for him with a stretcher, yelling medical jargon around, strapping a mask to Peter’s face and wheeling him into the operation room.

There’s the need to follow them, to demand to be in there and make sure that Peter will be fine, that he will live, but his body doesn’t follow that need. He knows he’s not allowed in there. He knows that him being in there won’t help. He knows all that – but that doesn’t mean it makes it any easier to accept.

“Tony.” He whips his head around, only yet realizing that Rhodey is next to him. Slowly, as if the nanobots know that their job here is done, the armor around him disappears, crawling back into the housing case against his chest. Tony wants to say something, anything really, but not a single word comes out of his mouth when he opens it. “He’s going to be okay. Peter is a strong one, you know that.”

_That bullet was meant for me. I was stupid enough to not wear my helmet. Peter promised me to look after himself. I should’ve put him in that panic room. It was my job to keep him safe._

Still, no word leaves his mouth, leaving him gaping like a fish on dry land. Rhodey puts his hand on his shoulder. “You can wait here, of course. We will deal with the rest. But at least let Morgan see that you’re okay, yeah?”

Tony must’ve nodded, because Rhodey leaves him alone with his thoughts and guilt and prayers that Peter will be fine. Before his legs give out underneath him, he somehow manages to stumble over to the chairs that are lining the wall, falling onto it not a second too late.

His thoughts are a mess. Time seems to move too fast and not at all at the same time. One moment, he’s on his own, trying to ground himself by repeating over and over again that he’ll be fine, that Tony employs the best medical staff there is, that FRIDAY would’ve told him if Peter was in mortal danger, and one moment later, Morgan is in his arms, crying while he does his best to calm her down, Pepper next to him, one arm around May who is also crying.

Tony feels like an even bigger idiot. Pepper told him to not rush into things, to make sure everything is safe before doing this. But he’s been so hopeful that everything would work out after Peter opened up in the lab, that he convinced Pepper to stay at the compound, too high on the serotonin rush of the thought that they could be a family again. He’d had ordered FRIDAY to focus everything on finding May, and he’d sent Happy to pick her up the second he got her location.

In all of his eagerness to fulfill his fantasy, he completely overlooked ( _ignored_ ) the obvious. They wanted to get Peter back, so, naturally, HYDRA would want Peter back, too.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says eventually. It’s been a bit over an hour since they rolled Peter into surgery, and there hasn’t been any word from them yet. Morgan is still in his arms, but asleep, tired from the events of the day. Pepper is overseeing the cleaning works and all the other administrative stuff. May is still here, of course, sitting next to him silently. At his words, she’s moves her head a little, a small indication that she’s listening. “I should’ve been more careful. Should’ve known they would come for him. Should’ve done more.”

“Like what?” she asks in a flat tone, not giving away a single thought that’s running through her mind.

“Like waiting to get you before-“

“Stark, if you would’ve waited even a second longer to get me back here, I would’ve kicked your ass and you know it,” May deadpans. Tony wants to laugh, is desperate for the tension that has been suffocating them for hours to disappear, but it’s stuck in his throat. “Them attacking isn’t your fault.”

“I should’ve –“

“If you tell me what you should have done once more, I’m throwing one of these chairs at your head.” Tony rolls his head to the side, looking straight into May’s eyes. “Let’s look at what you’ve actually done, okay? You found Peter. You found a way to bring him back to us. You somehow made him trust you despite him having no idea who you are or who he is. You tried to get him into that panic room, even though we both know that has been a lost cause right from the start. Right now, you’re giving him the best medical attention he can get for a couple hundred miles, sitting out here, watching that door like a hawk, ready to do anything and everything if needed. What more could you have possibly done?”

“More,” Tony answers, because there has to be something he could’ve done to prevent this from happening.

“Give yourself a break, Tony. For once, you actually get my permission for it.” This time, Tony does actually manage to chuckle, even though he has no idea how. If only it were that easy.

Another two and a half hours later, Peter is out of surgery. They took out the bullet and closed the wound. They can’t say what damage the electric shock left behind, but his healing factor started to recover, so they’re optimistic that he will be fine after resting for a while. To make sure that he actually gets the rest – and doesn’t get up the second he’s conscious, like he often did – they gave him some sedatives, enough to knock him out for a couple of hours.

Which, of course, doesn’t keep anybody from not visiting him. Tony and May stay almost the entire time with him, no matter the hour of the night. Pepper and Morgan stop by for a bit, mainly so Tony could read Morgan her bedtime story, which she insisted Peter needed to hear, too. Then, the other Avengers stop by, each of them saying what a stupid but brave boy he is, that he will be fine in no time, doing everything he can to give all of them grey hairs.

The routine only changes when Wanda is about to leave.

“The last thing he told me before the sirens went off,” May says, eyes not leaving her nephew, causing Wanda to wait and Tony to move his eyes from Peter to her, “is that he wants his memories back. That he wants you to go inside his head and remove the… barrier or whatever it is.”

In all of the chaos of the day, Tony almost forgot about it. Peter saying that he’s trusting Wanda with her magic was the thing that made him agree to let Peter fight. Wanda looks from May to Tony to Peter in the bed and back to May, pulling at her sleeves almost shyly. “I can try.”

“Can you do it now?” May asks.

“Now?” Tony repeats, finally finding his voice again. “He’s still recovering from the surgery.”

“I just thought it might be easier for him,” she explains, running a hand through her hair nervously, suddenly looking twice her age with the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders. “Like… like a dream or something.”

“It would feel like a dream to him,” Wanda says slowly, stepping closer to the bed. “And it would actually be easier to break the barrier down like this. Less struggle.”

“What about his recovery?” Tony asks. He wants Peter to remember, of course, he wanted that from the second he realized that Peter lost his memory, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm him. Time has proven him again and again that he can’t have everything he wants, and if it looks like he can, then something very painful comes along the way to remind him that he can’t have it. This feels too good to be true.

“I assume it would take a little longer,” she says, eyeing Peter lying in the bed before her. “The mind needs just as much time to heal as the body. But Peter is strong. I don’t think it should interfere with him getting better.”

May and Tony exchange a look. It isn’t a confident one. “We may actually kill two birds with one stone.”

“You think we’re really that lucky?” Tony asks, a hint of humor in his voice. “With my Stark Luck and his Parker Luck?”

“Who knows? Maybe they cancel each other out,” May answers with a small smile. Then, she gives Wanda a little nod.

“I will be careful,” she promises as she raises her hand, the magic already weaving between her fingers. Almost gently, she throws a small ball of red light at Peter and it sinks into his head immediately. Tony can’t help but feel a little bit antsy at that. For a second, the vision that Wanda showed him all those years ago pops up in his head, sending a cold shower down his spine. But she’s not like that anymore. She’s not filling his head with paranoia and fears, but tearing down the wall that kept Peter from coming home.

For a few minutes, Wanda works her magic, Tony and May just waiting in silence. Eventually, she lowers her hands, her face a little bit paler than before as a sign of exhaustion. “I did all I could do,” she announces. “Now he has to remember.”

* * *

Peter is trying very hard not to hyperventilate or freak out or do anything else that is embarrassing because _Tony Stark_ is in his room, currently spitting in his trash can. “As far as walnut-date-loafs go, that wasn’t bad,” he says, but Peter knows he’s lying. He has to be. Because Peter knows how that walnut-date-loaf tastes.

And it doesn’t taste good.

“Oh, what do we have here?” Tony asks, taking a look at the pile of old tech on Peter’s desk. “Retro tech. Thrift store? Salvation army?”

“The, uh, garbage, actually,” Peter answers, face heating up again, very aware that the _billionaire_ Tony Stark is looking at his (literal) garbage tech.

“You’re a dumpster diver,” Tony concludes with a look Peter can’t quite interpret. He guesses it’s disgust. Has to be, right? What else would someone like Tony Stark think of it?

“Yeah, I was-“ Peter shakes his head. There are more pressing matters. Like why _Tony Stark_ (he still can’t believe it) is in his apartment. “Anyway, look, I definitely didn’t apply for your grant-“

“Uh-uh,” Tony says, holding up a finger and shutting him up effectively, “me first. Quick question of the rhetorical variety,” he holds up his phone, projecting a video of Spider-Man into the room, “that’s you, right?”

Oh, shit.

* * *

Even though Peter doesn’t have to sneak back into the apartment anymore, now that May knows about him being Spider-Man, he still tries to be as quiet as he can while climbing back through the window. He is actually early, five minutes before his curfew, but he doesn’t want to wake May, knowing she has an early shift tomorrow.

Turns out, he doesn’t have to worry about it.

Because on his bed sits May, completely not-asleep and also completely not-happy. Peter drops from the ceiling (okay, so he likes to crawl across the ceiling, sue him), feeling strangely guilty, despite the fact that there’s actually nothing to feel guilty about. He finished his homework before patrol, he’s not injured, and he’s early. “H-Hey May,” he says, giving her a smile as he pulls the mask off his face.

May doesn’t answer immediately, just looking at him with the kind of gaze that makes him spill all of his lies. However, he’s fresh out of lies, having come clean about being Spider-Man just a few days prior.

When she still doesn’t say anything, Peter can’t take it anymore. “Look, I know you’re disappointed, but-“

“Why do you think I’m disappointed?” she asks, getting off his bed and walking over to him.

“Because I’m Spider-Man.” 

Finally, that look disappears from her eyes, being replaced with a softer one that reminds him of hugs, soft laughter, hot cocoa, and blankets. “Oh, honey,” she sighs, running a hand through his hair when she’s close enough. “I’m not disappointed. In fact, I’m incredibly proud of you.”

“You are?” he asks, ears perking up. May nods. “But you were so angry.”

“I was worried, and I still am. You’re my little boy-“

“I’m not little-“

“-and you’re throwing yourself directly into danger. Any parent would be worried sick.”

“But I can take it. I am strong.”

“That doesn’t make me worry any less.” She looks at him for a moment, eyes flying over his face. “I know I can’t stop you from going out as Spider-Man. You are too much like your uncle, unable to keep your feet still when you know you can help. But I will always worry and stay awake until I know you’re safe.”

“I promise I’ll be careful, May.”

“We both know that’s a promise you can’t keep.” Peter only laughs, engulfing her into a hug.

* * *

For a second, time stands completely still as everybody tries to realize what just happened. Peter is staring with wide eyes, Pepper has her hand pressed against her mouth, the mugger seems to be paralyzed, and Tony slowly lifts his blood-covered hand from his stomach to his face. Then, Tony’s legs start to shake, and Peter can finally spring into action. He’s at his side in less than a second, slinging an arm around his back to keep him from falling, Tony already unconscious. With his other hand, Peter webs the mugger to the nearest wall, adding a smaller web to his mouth to keep him quiet.

“Karen, can you please call the police?” he asks, shifting the man in his arms, trying to not look at the wound on Tony’s abdomen, but oh God, the shirt is turning red so quickly.

_“They are on their way and should arrive in three point four minutes.”_

“He needs to go to a hospital,” Pepper says, stepping next to Peter, one of her hands automatically brushing over Tony’s cheek, the gesture suddenly intimate. Tears are shining in her eyes, and Peter can hear her way-too-fast heartbeat, but there is an air of professionalism around her, like she’s done this so often, she knows the routine, knows that there are more pressing matters than her feelings right now.

Which makes the entire situation just so much worse. 

Peter nods. “Karen, can you-“

“It’s faster if you take him,” Pepper interrupts him.

He blinks a few times. “Me?”

“Yes. You can just fly over the traffic, way faster than any ambulance.”

“But what about you?”

“You webbed him up, and police are on their way. I’m fine.” Peter isn’t really convinced, doubting his ability to keep Tony safe. What if he lets him fall? What if the bleeding gets worse because of the movements? What if he isn’t fast enough? What if- “Hey, Pe- Spider-Man.” Pepper puts a hand against his mask, her eyes as strong as steel and filled with so much confidence in him that it rubs off on him. “You can do it. I believe in you. _Tony_ believes in you.”

He can’t disappoint Tony.

“Okay,” Peter agrees quickly before his insecurities can make him doubt again, “Okay. I got this. I can do this.”

He looks down at Tony’s face, much more relaxed than he’s ever seen it before, and goes to work. Knowing from experience that it will help (which he isn’t going to admit because he knows what kind of trouble he would be in), Peter shoots a web against the wound, covering it entirely with the impromptu band-aid, and then webs Tony’s body to his, not liking the idea of him slipping out of his grip. Then, after giving Pepper a short nod, he shoots a web to the nearest building and swings through the sky, Tony pressed close to himself. “Karen, calculate the fastest route to the nearest hospital, please. And alert the staff that we’re coming.”

_“Of course, Peter.”_

Peter is a nervous rambler, that is no secret. And just because the person next to him is unconscious and not listening, that doesn’t stop him from rambling. “Mr. Stark, we’re almost there! You will get help in no time, just wait and see.”

Swinging through Queens with only one arm and a human-sized backpack is a lot more difficult than Peter is used to, but he makes it work. He has to make it work. Not making it work is not an option. “Besides, you can’t die yet! You’re about to be a father and get married and-and-and the world needs Iron Man! And Tony Stark! Like, who’s going to invent all the amazing stuff now? Hammer Industries? I actually think that that would be a step back, not forward.”

A pigeon almost crashes into them, causing Peter to lose balance for a second, but he finds it again before any damage can be done, thanking his quick thinking for once that he webbed Tony to himself. “I bet you’re going to invent time travel. I mean, if someone’s gonna invent it, it’s gonna be you. And then you could build a time machine out of one of your cars, like that really old movie? Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

Still no answer from Tony. Peter just imagines that the genius would completely agree with him. “Don’t worry, Mr. Stark, we’re, like, basically there. Only a little longer and then everything will be fine. Spider-Man doesn’t only help the people from Queens, but people from Manhattan, too. Even if they are superheroes themselves. Because, sometimes, even superheroes need a little help, right?”

Peter keeps on rambling until they reach the outside of the ER where a team of nurses and doctors is already waiting for them with a stretcher.

* * *

There’s not a single bone in Peter’s body that isn’t hurting, not a single muscle that isn’t sore – not even the high levels of serotonin in his body can make him forget that. Still, he lays on the mat in the gym at the compound, grinning like a lunatic. “Black Widow just kicked my ass,” he whispers in awe, not believing that this is actually his life.

Said Black Widow steps into his line of sight, hands on her hips and a smirk on her face as she looks down on him. “If only everyone I fight would be this excited about it,” she jokes, extending her hand down to him. “Need help getting up?”

Peter looks at the hand. “I don’t think I can ever get up again. Like, ever.”

As a reward, he gets a small chuckle out of her as she sits down next to him. “I wish all the guys would feel this honored when I kick their asses.”

“I’m sure they do. I mean, like, how can they not?”

“I see why Stark keeps you around. You’re very good for one’s ego.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, even though he’s not quite sure if that really was a compliment. For a moment, they stay silent, Natasha watching Peter, and Peter still starstruck that this is his life now. If anyone told him a year ago that he would train with Black Widow and War Machine on a regular basis, he would’ve straight up fainted. “Miss Romanoff, do you think I’ll ever be as good as you?”

She hums in amusement, cocking her head to the side, like she’s thinking about it really hard. “Who knows? You’re strong and you got that sixth sense of yours. But you lack technique.”

“Hey! I know all my fighting moves from movies!”

Natasha laughs about his almost-lie. Half of his moves are from movies; the other half are from – at this point – painful experiences. “That explains a lot.”

“But seriously, though? What do you think?” No matter how awesome it is getting to train with the real Avengers, not just a PSA video they’ve seen hundreds of times, it is kind of discouraging to always land on your back in a couple of seconds.

“I think you have real potential,” Nat answers after a moment, a small smile on her lips. “And with a lot more training, you won’t even be half bad. So, get up and let’s start another round.”

* * *

“Mr. Stark? Is everything o-“

“Parker! What took you so long?”

“I’m sorry, I’m in the middle of calculus, I had to get out of there first. Why are you calling me? Do you need my help? Is it another, you know, _retreat_? For the _internship_?”

“Why do you say it like you’re putting air quotes around it? It’s a real internship now.”

“I know, it’s just-“

“Doesn’t matter. Listen, Parker, where’s the solution for your webs?”

“Uh, my web fluid? It’s-“

“No, the other one. The one to dissolve your web fluid.”

“It’s at home. Why- … oh no, Mr. Stark, you haven’t-“

“ _Listen_ , it is _my_ lab, so I’m allowed to inspect everything that’s in there. Especially whatever you create, making sure that you don’t- … are you _laughing_ at me?”

“I-I’m sorry, but- Mr. Stark, that was my extra strong web fluid that I was working on.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Why do you think I’m calling you? DUM-E almost broke his claw off trying to break it. Now, get home, grab that damn solution and-“

“I can’t, I still have class.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Well, you know the rules. School first and all that.”

“This is- Stop laughing! This is serious!”

“Sorry, but I _really_ need to go back to class-“

“If you don’t bring me that solution right now, I’m painting your suit hot pink, I swear.”

“- and the webs should dissolve in, like, five hours or something?”

“Five-“

“Bye, Mr. Stark!”

“You little shi-!”

* * *

The words in front of Peter’s eyes are blurring together, transforming themselves into weird shapes, making less and less sense the longer he looks at them. Peter thinks they are actually moving across the page. With a sigh, he rubs his eyes, and glances over to the clock. 3:47 in the morning. He’s been awake for… Peter blinks and then sighs. Great. He can’t even do simple math anymore.

Pressure builds up in his chest, tears choking him as his anxiety starts to take over. For days, it’s been the same, arduous, almost torturous routine: waking up feeling just as tired as he did when he went to bed a couple of hours before, somehow making it through school (not remembering a single thing his teachers told him), getting scowled at by MJ because he almost fell asleep during practice, squeezing in a few hours of patrol, and then either spending time with May or Ned or Tony for the internship or the Avengers for his training, getting back late at night, trying to do his most important homework before falling into his bed face first and waking up after what feels like seconds, just as tired as before, starting the entire cycle again. Even on the weekends, Peter barely manages to catch up with all of his work.

But it’s just too much. He can’t keep up with it. Not if he wants to keep his sanity.

So, clearly, he has to lose his sanity. Because he has to keep this up, he has to prove that he can manage all of this. Because if he can’t keep this up, Spider-Man is the first thing to go. That’s one of the rules: school first. And he’s only allowed to go out as Spider-Man if he gets the proper training from the Avengers. Then, of course, there’s the rule that he still has to make time for his friends (Ned and May), making sure that Spider-Man doesn’t take over Peter’s complete life.

In conclusion: The only thing that is expendable is his sanity. And sleep. Which are basically the same thing.

“Peter?”

As a true testament to how tired he is, he hasn’t even noticed that he isn’t alone anymore. Peter whirls around, almost falling from his chair, staring wide eyed at Pepper Potts. His first thought is he should really go to bed if he starts imagining the very pregnant CEO of SI suddenly standing in his living room. Then he remembers that he’s not actually in his living room, but in the kitchen of the penthouse, staying with Tony and Pepper for two days while May is at a seminar in Texas.

“Miss Potts,” he breathes, suddenly feeling trapped.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” she asks, coming over to him, eyes roaming over the mess he calls school work in front of him. “Are you studying?”

“Just, uh, just trying to get ahead of some work,” he tries to lie.

Pepper arches one perfect eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Why is that paper dated a week ago?” She points to the date of the paper he’s currently working on, and Peter stares at it, trying to remember if he actually was supposed to hand this in an entire week ago. Oh, Mrs. Warren will subtract so many points for tardiness.

“It’s-It’s just…I-…” Feeling absolutely defeated under the knowing gaze of her, Peter’s shoulders sink a good two inches. The pressure that has been building in his chest suddenly bursts. “It’s just too much, Miss Potts.”

“What’s too much?” she asks in a very calming voice, taking a seat next to him and rubbing his neck with one hand. It’s something May always does to calm him down and that simple gesture breaks him even more.

“Everything!” he confesses. “I-I really try to do it all, to prove that I’m good enough, that I can be Peter and Spider-Man, but it’s just too much. But I have to do everything if I want to continue this, so there’s really no other way. I just… I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“You’re not going crazy, you’re just overworked, Peter,” Pepper says, giving him a small smile. “You’re trying to juggle everything at once, every day, and that’s bound to fail.”

“But I-“

“Take it from someone who’s managed impossible schedules for years: there’s a limit to what you can do in one day. And that’s okay. I had to learn that, too. Especially after I took over as CEO, I was determined to prove to everyone that I deserve that position by taking on way more than I could handle.”

“But you’re Pepper Potts,” Peter says somewhat dumbfounded.

“I am, but I’m also only human.” That sounds fake, but okay, he will just accept it for now to avoid an argument. “I know you want to prove to everyone that you can handle it all at once, but it doesn’t work like that. You can’t force more than 24 hours in a day to complete everything you want to do. I tried it, and I failed. It’s fine to reschedule something. You don’t have to do everything at once, and nobody expects you to do that.”

Peter gives her reluctant nod. If anyone is an expert in planning things, it would be Pepper Potts. She accepts it, pulling a StarkPad close and opening Peter’s weekly schedule. He wasn’t aware she has that, but now it seems stupid to assume she hasn’t. “Now, let’s see how we can give you a bit more time to breathe. And yes, that does mean we have to cut some of the training or lab sessions short, or even the patrolling, but that doesn’t mean you’re doing a bad job. Think of it more of a little break to allow yourself to focus on yourself. If you’re back on track, we can reschedule everything. Sounds good?”

Everything in Peter screams at him to say no, to say that he can manage it, that he’s basically an adult and adults can balance, like, everything. But he’s so _tired_. All he wants to do is crawl into his bed and sleep for days. So, maybe it’s okay if he actually steps back a bit. Just until he has a normal sleep pattern again. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

* * *

“Mr. Stark?” Peter calls out as he steps into the lab of the penthouse. “Miss Potts called me and said you-…” He stops dead in his tracks, blinking at the sight in front of him, not quite sure what to make of it. That being said, the sight of Tony building something in his lab is not unusual – in fact, it would be more concerning if he weren’t working on something.

It’s the something that’s a bit concerning. Because he’s sitting on the ground, surrounded by a half-dismantled baby crib, a hologram of something that looks like a futuristic version of a crib floating in front of him.

“Uh…” Peter hums, stepping closer carefully. “Mr. Stark?” Pepper called him about an hour ago, asking if he could stop by because she needed someone to talk some sense into him and she was _this close to ripping his head off and not because of the pregnancy hormones_. “What’s going on?”

Suddenly, Tony looks up from the hologram, some pipe-like looking piece still in his hands. The genius blinks twice, like he has to make sure that Peter is really there and not just a fabrication of his imagination. “What does it look like?”

“Is SI expanding their variety of goods and starting to make cribs?” he jokes.

Tony doesn’t laugh. Instead, he only huffs and looks to the half-built crib like it committed a hideous crime. “We might as well start if _that’s_ the best the market has to offer.”

“And what exactly is wrong with the crib you spend hours doing research on?” That’s not an exaggeration. Peter had been there for that research. They spent two entire afternoons of his internship researching baby cribs.

“Look at it!” Peter looks at it, still not seeing a problem besides that it’s not assembled. “That monstrosity is a complete safety issue. Whoever designed it was obviously an idiot and knew nothing about the dangers a baby could encounter!”

The young superhero wonders what dangers a baby can encounter, but he’s too afraid to ask. Instead, he takes a look at the hologram. “So, you’re building one yourself.”

“Of course I am. Someone has to design safe baby equipment, and, obviously, I’m the only one capable of it.”

Peter keeps looking at the design. “Why don’t you make it hover?” he asks jokingly. Tony’s head snaps back up to him, watching him with a strange expression. “You know, just in case there’s an earthquake or something. Something that hovers can’t shake, right?” It’s meant to be a joke to show Tony how ridiculous he’s being.

But the joke misses the point by far.

“Peter,” Tony says slowly, “you’re a genius. I haven’t even thought about earthquakes! FRIDAY, add a hovering mechanism to the design and recalculate everything. Peter, come join me and tell me more of your absolutely brilliant ideas.”

That’s how Pepper finds them an hour later when she walks into the lab – both of them sitting on the ground in front of what could be a baby crib or a little space ship, the design of the hovering, self-maneuvering crib with a nanobot shield beside them. They look like the mad scientists they are. “What is this?”

“The baby crib,” Tony says, taking the wrench out of his mouth. “Peter had some excellent ideas.”

Pepper takes a very deep breath, rubbing her forehead with one hand. “Peter, I called you to talk him out of this, not to make it worse.”

Before Peter can even answer, Tony is already talking. “Honey, that baby crib we brought is terrible.”

“It’s the best on the market, Tony! It’s more than fine.”

“It’s like you don’t even care about the safety of our daughter. That crib would’ve been absolutely useless if there was an earthquake or if we needed to evacuate and no one could reach her.”

For a second, it looks like Pepper is going to answer, but then she only shakes her head. “I’m not dealing with this right now. I need ice cream. Or brownies.” She pauses, thinking about it for a second. “Ice cream and brownies. And Peter is going to come with me.”

Peter is already on his feet before he can think twice about it, because Pepper is pretty much on the top of the command chain, right next to May. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tony protests, not getting up, but grabbing Peter by his sleeve. “Peter is _my_ intern. You don’t have any dibs on him. He needs to help me.”

Pepper turns back around, sending him a glare that sends a shiver down Peter’s spine, urging him to free himself out of Tony’s grip and hurry over to her. “No, he doesn’t. And you get him back when you rebuilt the original crib we brought, not a second earlier.” With those words, Pepper pushes Peter out of the lab and he only has time to send Tony an apologetic smile before he starts eating insane amounts of ice cream and brownies with the world’s most famous CEO.

When Morgan is born, she sleeps in a normal, not-hovering crib.

* * *

Peter is good at working with his hands – all the tinkering and building Legos is a true testament of that. He has the necessary fine motor skills and steady hands to dismantle a bomb (Natasha’s words, not his – though he’s _totally_ gonna use that) and help Tony work on his nanobots. His fingers seem to instinctively know how to handle delicate objects, holding them secure without damaging them.

But it turns out, he’s really shitty at sewing. Like, really bad. To the point where he actually thinks about abandoning this project – however, he already spent about twenty bucks on this, he’s not going to back down. May didn’t raise a quitter.

Making a little toy for Morgan is kind of a crazy idea, especially if you think about the fact that her parents are, like, some of the richest people in the world. They can buy her literally anything and everything – and if they can’t, Tony can build it for her. But the idea flashed through his mind during P.E. and hadn’t left him since, so he decided to give it a go. Peter went to several fabric stores, letting his enhanced touch sense find the softest fabrics, buying a small sewing kit and stuffing, and started his YouTube search for a good sewing tutorial. There are, of course, thousands of them, and he watches about half of them before starting the little spider.

Looking at it now – asymmetrical legs, crooked stitches, the badly embroidered spider symbol and the eyes – Peter starts to doubt his gift again. Maybe it really is a shitty gift. Maybe he’s overstepping some line. After all, Peter is just an intern. What kind of interns gives a (badly) hand-made gift to their boss’ baby?

He flexes his fingers anxiously, fingertips still tingling from all the times the needle pricked through his skin. Then, Peter shakes his head before stuffing the little spider into his backpack. Tony liked the hand-made card Peter made him. Which, okay, was a lot nicer than this because MJ drew it. But maybe that means he won’t laugh into his face when he sees Peter’s gift. Or has the decency to wait until Peter is home again before throwing it away.

* * *

**Peter**

MR. STARK!!!!

_[screenshot of a tweet from @youknowwhoiam retweeting a news article about Spider-Man preventing a car accident, saving a school bus full of children, saying “Spiders grow up so fast. You’re doing good work, Spidey.”]_

!!!!!!!!!

**Mr. Stark**

Thank God you send me this

Otherwise how would I’ve known it existed

It’s not like I tweeted that

**Peter**

YOU TWEETED ABOUT ME!!!

**Mr. Stark**

Well

Technically, I tweeted about Spider-Man

**Peter**

STILL

THIS IS SO AWESOME!!!

I’M GONNA PRINT IT AND PUT IT ON MY WALL!!!!

**Mr. Stark**

Why are you so excited? It’s not like I never tell you that you do good work in person

**Peter**

But this is on Twitter!!!!

It’s on the internet!!!

**Mr. Stark**

Right, I forgot

Unless it’s on the internet, it basically never happened for you teenagers

My bad

**Peter**

I just mean it’s one thing if you tell me that I’m doing good

It’s another if you tell the entire world

**Mr. Stark**

I’ll make sure to keep that in mind and share all my praise for you with the entire internet in the future

**Peter**

I can basically hear the sarcasm, but I’m gonna ignore it

My mood is too good

Still gonna print it out, though

**Mr. Stark**

I expect nothing less from you

And you better get it framed

**Peter**

Oh, definitely

* * *

Peter sits hunched over the workbench, soldering iron in one hand, web shooter in the other. During his last patrol, he smashed against a building – totally _not_ his fault, by the way, no matter what the Baby Monitor shows – and damaged the little device. He thinks he knows where the problem is. At least, he originally thought that. But it still doesn’t work. Calling Tony is not an option because he’s still very busy being a new dad, and Peter doesn’t want to bother him with something like this. Something he should be able to fix, because it’s based on his original design.

But seeing that he already spent four hours in the lab at the compound and is still not any closer to getting it to work, it’s not actually that easy.

The door behind him opens, and someone steps in – Rhodey, Peter realizes as he hears the soft whirring sound of his leg braces. “Y’know, just because Tony isn’t here doesn’t mean you have to take over all his bad habits,” he says with equal parts humor and concern in his voice. “Come join us for dinner. Steve made cheeseburgers. Enough to feed all the super persons in the compound.”

“I promise I’ll join you in just a second, Colonel Rhodes,” Peter answers honestly, eyes still fixed on the web shooter. “Right after I fix this, I promise.”

“That’s not gonna fly with me. Do you know how often I heard Tony tell me that exact same thing? I know it’s a lie.” Rhodey steps next to his bench, looking over his shoulder and down on the device in his hand. “What are you doing, anyway? Isn’t that one of your web shooters?”

“It is. It got jammed or something, don’t really know. But it’s no big deal, I just gonna fix it real quick and then-“

“Since when is real quick four hours?” As if to prove the Colonel’s point, a little spark flies from the web shooter, indicating that whatever Peter just did wasn’t successful. In a fit of frustration, Peter lets both the web shooter and the soldering iron fall – making sure that it doesn’t, like, burn anything – burying his face in his hands.

“I should be able to fix this,” he mumbles through his fingers. “I invented them. It’s my equipment. There’s no reason for me not to be able to do this.” The unsaid _But I can’t_ hangs between them.

Peter half expects Rhodey to tell him to give up or call Tony, but instead he picks up the little device, turning it around in his hand, looking at it from all sides. “I may not be some tech-genius like Tony, but I could help you, if you want.” Those words are so unexpected, Peter’s head shoots up and he can do nothing but blink at him. Rhodey smirks. “What? You think I only went to MIT to babysit Tony? I actually managed to get my degree while babysitting him, so, really, I should’ve gotten extra credit for it.” He throws the web shooter in the air once, catching it again easily. “As long as it’s not more difficult than rocket science, I can help you. So, what do you say?”

“Are you serious?” Peter can only ask, and Rhodey nods, a little smirk on his face. “Yes! Oh my God, yes! Thank you! That would be awesome! Wait, does that mean you’re a _rocket scientist_?”

The man only laughs, setting the web shooter down on the workbench, and grabbing Peter underneath his arms, pulling him up on his feet despite Peter’s protests. “But if we’re working together, we play by my rules. And my rules include dinner first and reasonable lab hours. I meant it that we don’t need you picking up Tony’s bad habits. C’mon, let’s get some cheeseburgers before Steve eats them all.”

* * *

The buzzing sound of his phone is skull-piercing, making Peter even more nauseous. He tries to hide himself even more under the mountain of blankets he’s under, making himself as small as possible, praying that whoever is trying to reach him will just give up and leave him to his pain. May let him stay at home today, seeing that everything is just too much for his senses that are dialed up to fifteen right now. Sensory overload sucks, and in these moments, Peter regrets wandering off on his own on their field trip to OsCorp all those months ago.

Thankfully, the buzzing stops after only a few moments (even though they feel like an eternity), allowing Peter to breathe again and relax his tense muscles a bit, nausea subsiding a bit. But then, a soft, robotic voice echoes through the room. “ _Code overwritten. Call connected_.”

Before Peter can even begin to process those words, there’s another voice coming from his phone. “Hey, kid,” Tony breathes, trying his best to be as quiet as he can, but it still sounds if he’s talking directly into Peter’s ear, “I’ll make this quick. May told me your senses are acting up. Put on your mask and activate the Black Out Protocol.” There’s a pause, only his breathing audible. “Hope you’re feeling better soon, kiddo.” Then there’s silence again, the call disconnected.

Everything in Peter tells him to just keep hiding underneath all the blankets, to not leave the only place where the pain is somewhat tolerable. But Tony told him to get the mask. And the genius usually has the best ideas; at least better ideas than Peter has. Bracing himself for the unavoidable assault on his senses, he slowly creeps out from underneath the blankets, eyes opened just enough to see the rough outlines of his room, the sounds around him almost crushing him.

By the time Peter’s fingers finally find his mask, he’s seriously considering never listening to Tony again, because this _hurts_. He’s quick to pull the mask over his face, the thin material doing nothing to keep the noises or the light out. “Activate Black Out Protocol,” Peter mumbles, certain he’s going to throw up any second if he’s exposed to any more sound or light.

But then, everything is suddenly quiet and dark. Peter blinks, thinking he maybe lost his mind and is just imagining this, so desperate for relief that his brain can’t take it anymore – but it really is quiet and dark, the mask absorbing everything around him. Stumbling back to his bed, an almost soundless sob escapes him. “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he whispers as he lays back down, falling asleep in less than two seconds.

* * *

“Dude, do you ever think about how easy it would be for you to be cool?”

Peter looks up from the picture of Morgan Tony just texted him and blinks at his friend in confusion, before following his line of sight to the Cool Table. Yes, even though they go to a school full of nerds, there are still the cool nerds, who somehow make reciting the periodic table and knowing the twelfth decimal place of pi look cool, and the not cool nerds. Ned and Peter fall into the second category, not too bothered by it if they’re completely honest, but every once in a while they ask themselves the question of what if.

This clearly is one of those moments.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re literally a superhero,” Ned answers, still staring at the table at the opposite of the cafeteria, “and you hang out with the Avengers. You’ve got access to Tony Stark’s penthouse. You babysit the most famous baby in the world. Like, you’re so far away from all of us, you’re basically on a different planet.”

Peter snorts. “Don’t exaggerate, man.”

“But that’s the thing. I’m not exaggerating at all.” Just this moment, Peter’s phone rings once, showing the message Sam just sent into the group chat. “See? You’re part of the Avengers group chat. That’s _so_ unreal.” 

Well, it is kind of unreal. Peter still wakes up some days, thinking how can any of this be his life. “I don’t want to be popular.”

Finally, Ned looks away from the Cool Table to give Peter a very unimpressed look. “Dude. Every teenager wants to be popular. Like, no one of us fantasizes about being the uncool one, the odd one out. Way too low self-esteem in all of us.”

“Pretty sure MJ doesn’t want to be popular.”

That seems to pause Ned’s train of thought, wherever it came from or wanted to go. His friend thinks about it for a second before sighing, his shoulders dropping a bit. “Yeah, probably. Guess you’re right. I just… I don’t know, man, I guess I just realized that we’re not at the same level anymore and you can literally leave me behind with the snap of your fingers. Or, like, without it.”

“Dude,” Peter says, lying a hand on Ned’s shoulder, “you know I would never do that, right? You’re my _best friend_ , Ned. And nothing will change that.” Ned still looks unconvinced. That’s not something Peter can let happen. “I mean, I could probably impress them with knowing the Avengers and all, but who am I going to watch Star Wars with? Or build Lego with? I don’t want to be popular if I can’t be myself anymore.” That actually seems to work on Ned, his mood lightening up a bit. “Besides, man, you’ve met Mr. Stark, too. And you’re coming to the compound next month. That’s not something they can just do.” He nods over to the kids sitting at the Cool Table.

A grin starts to spread on his face. “I forgot about that!”

“How could you forget it? You were, like, hyperventilating when I told you we got the permission.”

“Probably because of the lack of oxygen.” They both give a short laugh. “Thanks, Peter. You’re my best friend, too.”

He just bumps into Ned’s shoulder. “Of course, man. Wanna see the video the Falcon sent of the Black Widow kicking Captain America’s ass?”

“ _Dude_. That’s, like, the coolest sentence _ever_.”

* * *

It’s not the first time Peter’s sat in the driver seat of a car, but it’s the first time Tony’s sat next to him. Peter knows he’s not a good driver (hence why he needs to practice), the image of Mr. Thompson’s crashed car still fresh on his mind – however, having Tony beside him is just making him even more nervous.

And sitting in one of Tony’s cars makes him even _more_ nervous because they are expensive, no matter how many times he tells him that it’s one of his _old_ ones. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Peter says for the hundredth time in the last half hour.

“It’s a great idea,” Tony says, already buckling up. “May is busy, you need practice, I have a car. What’s not good about that?”

“This car is, like, expensive,” he goes on, not even daring to touch the steering wheel. “What if I make a mistake and we get into an accident?”

“Which is exactly why we’re in this car. It’s safer than the old junk your aunt drives. And you won’t tell her that I said that,” he adds with a little glare, but Peter is still panicking too much to think about Tony’s reputation. “Relax. Everything will be fine. I’m right here, not going anywhere. Now, buckle up and start the car.”

“But-“

“Buckle up and start the car.”

Peter buckles up with somewhat clumsy fingers. “I’m just not a good driver, Mr. Stark.”

“That’s why we’re here, so you get better. C’mon, you’re not _that_ bad.”

Still not really convinced, Peter starts the car.

Twenty minutes later, they park at the side of the road. The second the car stands still, Tony stumbles out of it, looking a lot paler than twenty-one minutes ago. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart down. Peter exits the car, too, face bright red and looking at his mentor sheepishly. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“I-I-It’s fine,” Tony stutters, voice a bit higher than the boy is used to. The billionaire clears his throat a few times, trying to collect his cool again. It’s only half-working. “You know, maybe we should start practicing somewhere with… less obstacles. And a lot more open space with no things to drive into. Let’s head back to the compound and start there, okay?” Peter nods, already opening the door again, but Tony all but yells: “I’ll drive back! You’re riding shotgun until no passenger is in danger of dying of a heart attack. Or dying at all, period.”

* * *

The second Sam drops Peter on the roof, he rolls to his feet, rips his mask off, and gives him a dark glare. “Oh, wow, look at that,” Sam says, voice dripping with sarcasm, “the puppy can glare. Terrified, really. Shaking to my bones. You should ditch the mask, let everyone see that scowl. Queens would be safe forever.”

“I only needed five more minutes!” Peter yells in frustration, gesticulating wildly.

“Well, then you should’ve started five minutes sooner.”

“It wasn’t up to me!”

“And your curfew isn’t up to me. The only thing that’s up to me is whether I get screamed at by your lovely aunt for you breaking your curfew and getting shot at least twice or not. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

“You were at an illegal weapons deal, of course you would’ve gotten shot.”

“I would’ve stopped that deal if you just gave me five more minutes! You let the criminals get away!”

“Police were already almost there to bust them, thanks to _me_ calling them, so nobody got away. And I’m not letting you get away with breaking the curfew, so get down that fire escape and let your scary aunt see that you’re still in one piece.”

“You didn’t have to carry me back through half of Queens holding on to my foot, screaming it’s the Baby Express.”

A wide, shit-eating grin spreads across Sam’s face. “No, I didn’t. But I wanted to. Now, go back inside before I’ll do even more embarrassing stuff.”

“I can’t believe you,” Peter mumbles, not willing to be defeated this easily, but still climbing down the fire escape. Sam is directly behind him. “I just lost all of my respect for you. _Sam_.”

A laugh booms down from above him. “Really? You’re gonna call me by my first name now? Man, just wait until I let Stark know. He’s gonna Baby Express you through all of New York!”

“Oh yeah? Just wait until I tell May I got the concussion last week because you were too busy watching Undercover Boss to help me.”

The laughing abruptly stops.

* * *

Sometimes, Peter really hates that he can’t push back. Well, hate is maybe a strong word, but he’s definitely annoyed that he always just has to sit tight and endure the spit balls Flash throws at him, being called Penis Parker, and hearing that his internship is fake. But he ignores it and the laughs from everyone around them, he ignores the shoves into the lockers, ignores all the taunts and insults, telling himself that Flash is probably working through his own problems and that’s why he makes Peter’s life miserable to prove himself that he has still some power over something or whatever.

But sometimes, Peter just thinks about how easy it would be to prove Flash wrong. To simply call Tony or any of the Avengers and ask them to stop by, maybe make a scene – they would do it in a heartbeat, he knows that. He could dodge the spit balls easily before they even get anywhere near his head. He could send Flash flying down the hallway with a simple shove of his shoulder. He could tell everyone about the phone call between Flash and his parents he accidentally overheard, proving that Flash isn’t as tough and confident as he wants everyone to believe.

Of course, Peter would never do any of that. Firstly, he doesn’t want to hurt Flash in any way, no matter how much Flash likes to hurt him. Secondly, it would be an abuse of his powers, and Peter doesn’t want to do that either. So, he just sits there and takes it all, never opening his mouth to say anything.

However, his mind does wander, from time to time. Especially on bad days. Like this day. Peter can’t say what made this day so much worse than the other days, because Flash has only done his usual bullying, nothing out of the ordinary, but it bothered Peter more than normally.

Luckily, it’s an internship day. Spending the day with Tony in his lab always lifts his mood. And makes him forget his misery for a bit. However, when he enters the lab at the penthouse in Manhattan, Tony isn’t alone. Natasha and Clint are there, Morgan in Clint’s arms, the plush spider Peter made her in Clint’s other hand, and he lets it dance in front of her face, coaxing a laugh from her. Nat sits on one of the work benches while Tony sits as his own, tinkering with what looks like Natasha’s widow bites.

“Hey, little spider,” Nat greets him with a smile.

Peter smiles back, his mood already better, but there’s still a slight bitterness to it, the events of the day too fresh on his mind. “Hey Miss Romanoff, Mr. Barton! What are you doing here?”

“Came back from a mission that wasn’t too gentle on our equipment,” Clint explains as Peter wanders over to him to blow a raspberry against Morgan’s cheek.

“They also eat half of the stuff in my fridge,” Tony explains, not looking up from the device in front of him, “and command the attention of my daughter and my intern.” Finally, he looks up to Peter with a smile. Peter isn’t quite sure what the man sees in Peter’s face, but he doesn’t like it. There’s a twitch around his eyes and they stay on him, the look in them a lot like the one he has when he sits in front of a piece of technology he needs to fix. “How was school?” he eventually asks, still not looking away.

Peter – unable to lie to Tony – looks away and shrugs. “The usual.”

“Which means that Flash kid bothered you.”

Heat gathers in his cheeks as he looks from Tony to the other adults in the room, who are all waiting for an answer. “You-you know about Flash?”

“Of course. We all do,” Natasha answers, sliding from the workbench to collect her now fixed widow bites, fastening them around her wrists, “and we’re not fans of his.”

“It’s no big deal,” Peter is quick to say, trying to keep the situation from escalating.

“It is if he’s hurting you,” Tony announces, turning his chair around to face him, arms crossed over his face. There’s an almost dark look in his eyes. “And don’t tell me that it-doesn’t-hurt-crap. Emotional hurt is also a thing.”

“It really is fine. I can take it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to.” Suddenly, Tony is on his feet and right in front of Peter, a hand lying warm and heavy on his shoulder. “And we’re always here to back you up.”

“In a heartbeat,” Clint says, making Spidey give Morgan kisses.

“We’re also very good at making people disappear,” Nat comments, inspecting her weapons almost in a boring manner that seems so effortless it has to be fake.

“Please don’t kill Flash,” Peter pleads, seriously concerned at the moment.

“That’s completely up to him and his actions.”

Tony squeezes Peter’s shoulder, bringing him back from all the panic-evoking scenarios that are filling his head right now. There’s a gentle smile on his face that drives away the bitterness of his day. “I mean it, you know?” Peter’s mouth is already open, but Tony shakes his head. “Not the killing Flash part, obviously. Well- … no, definitely obviously. For now, at least. Anyway, my point is, if you need it, you always have our help. Not just Spider-Man, but Peter Parker, too. You don’t have to take any of the shi- crap he’s doing to you. I mean, I could just have to tweet something to prove your internship is real. It would take me less than a second to do that. In fact, FRIDAY, how about-“

“Thank you,” Peter says before Tony can do anything. The billionaire arches an eyebrow. “I appreciate all the offers of… help, but I really am fine. He’s just annoying, that’s all.”

“If you say so,” Tony answers, not sounding very convinced. “But this is a standing offer. Just say the word and I’ll post all those embarrassing photos of you that FRIDAY took.” Peter’s deep, exaggerated groan is fake and everyone knows it – after all, it’s quite difficult to hide that smile on his face.

* * *

Peter thought the worst experience of his life was being trapped under a collapsed warehouse. He’s been wrong. This is, by far, the worst.

The art assignment he got over spring break.

He lets the pencil fall out of his hand, dropping his head onto his absolutely terrible drawing, not caring that he’s most likely going to smudge the lines he worked on so hard. Maybe this will actually improve his drawing. Which wouldn’t be difficult because his drawing literally can’t get any worse. Seriously. Why do they even have art in school? They’re a school for science and technology specifically. No one of them is good at art – except maybe MJ, but only if they’re making portraits from people in crisis. If they were good at art, they would be at a school for art.

“You doing okay there, Queens?” Steve asks, stepping up next to him. May allowed Peter to spend his entire break at the compound on the one condition that he actually finishes all of the school work he got assigned.

“Please kill me,” he mumbles into the table. “I beg you. I don’t care if it’s painful. It’ll probably be less painful than doing this, anyway.”

“Ah, so we’re at that stage of homework, huh?” he chuckles. By now, the entire Avengers are used to Peter’s dramatics when it comes to his homework. And, apparently, they have a scale-system. “What do you have to do?”

“Make a pencil drawing of an iconic building,” Peter answers, lifting his head just enough so Steve could pull out the sheet of paper with smudged pencil lines.

“And that’s… clearly…”

Peter feels his heart sink. “It’s supposed to be the Avengers Tower.”

“Right, of course,” Steve answers, too fast to be sincere, “I can totally see it now.” Well, at least he tries to make an effort in cheering Peter up. Won’t change anything about Peter failing the assignment, though. “Do you want me to draw it for you?”

The young superhero rolls his head to the side and blinks, thinking he misheard him. “What?”

“I can draw it for you,” Steve repeats, sitting down next to him and pulling a clean sheet and the pencil closer to him. “Back in the day, I drew quite a bit. Netflix wasn’t a thing yet and we had to do _something_.”

“But… that would be cheating.”

A sly smirk spreads on his face. “Only if you get caught, right?”

“But you’re Captain Rogers- I mean, Mr. America, I-I mean _Captain America_. I thought it’s, like, illegal for you to cheat or something.”

He laughs, pencil already flying over the paper. “You know, I actually cheat quite often. I think I disobeyed my superiors more often than I followed their orders.”

“Huh,” Peter huffs, blinking again. “Then why does literally everyone think you’re always following the rules and stuff?”

“That’s what Pepper would call a good PR team.”

* * *

“You’re the one cleaning this up.”

“But it looks awesome!”

“Well, yeah, it does.” Peter’s smile widens. “You still need to clean it up, though.”

At once, the smile slips off Peter’s face, replaced by a pout as Tony takes the sleeping Morgan to put her to bed. Peter built a blanket fort in the living room of the penthouse for him and Morgan to play in. Turns out, the Stark-Potts household has absolutely exceptional equipment to build a blanket fort, with owning enough blankets and pillows for an entire army, and all the modern, minimalistic furniture that’s great for stacking.

Realizing that Pepper will probably veto the idea of having a permanent blanket fort in her living room (Peter is pretty sure he can convince Tony to keep it), he crawls back inside to get all of the toys out of there. However, somehow he manages to kick over one of the little towers he built to keep the blankets up, sending everything crashing down on him.

Suddenly, he isn’t trapped under a pile of blankets, but tons of concrete and steel, an entire warehouse crushing him, driving all the air out of his lungs, and making it impossible for him to move. A paralyzing fear takes over, changing every single thought in his brain to _I’m going to die, I’m getting crushed, I’m all alone, no one will ever find me, I’m going to die_. Peter tries to find enough strength to move, to move the building that’s lying on top of him – after all, he already did it once, he can do it again – but he can’t even blink. He wants to scream for help, but the second he opens his mouth, it’s filled with dirt and dust, blocking his airways. There’s no air in his lungs to scream anyway, all of it crushed out by the tons and tons of weight above him.

Tears spring into his eyes, his heart thundering against his chest, a ringing in his ear, as Peter lays on the ground underneath the rumbles, praying that someone will come and find him because he doesn’t want to die, he really doesn’t want to-

Something is pulled from above him, he can feel it brushing over his body, but the weight is still there, pressing down on him, crushing him until there’s nothing left of him. “Peter!” Strong hands grip him and turn him around with ease, as if he’s not stuck underneath beams of steel that are cutting into his body. “Peter, buddy, you’re fine! You’re in the penthouse with me, Tony.” Something touches his face, something calloused and rough, but warm and comforting. Peter tries to take a breath but he can’t, the dirt and dust building an unbreachable wall inside his lungs. His sight is still blurred from all the tears. “Listen to me, just breathe, okay? Take a deep breath. You’re fine, Peter. You’re safe.”

There’s something about that voice that actually allows Peter to draw in a gulp of air – and then, everything shifts back into perspective. He’s not trapped underneath the tons of weight of a collapsed warehouse, but lying in the living room in a sea of blankets, Tony kneeling over him, one hand pressed against his cheek, the other one on his shoulder. His eyes are full of panic. “Peter?” His voice is full of panic, too.

Peter’s eyes dart around the room while his brain tries to come up with an explanation of what just happened. When the realization hits him, he wishes he’s trapped underneath a building instead of living through this embarrassment. He had a panic attack because a _blanket_ fell on him. God, how pathetic can he be? It was a blanket! And Tony witnessed all of it! “I-I’m so, _so_ sorry, Mr. Stark! I was just-“

Tony’s shoulders drop a few inches in relief as Peter starts to ramble, but the man shakes his head before Peter can start an explanation. “Don’t ever apologize for having a panic attack, okay? You don’t have to.”

“But it was just a blanket and-“

“I had a panic attack once while I signed a kid’s drawing,” Tony explains, the words surprising Peter so much he actually stops his apology. A small, warm smile appears on his face, the hand on his cheek wiping away the tears Peter hasn’t even noticed until now. “I mean it when I say don’t apologize. For people in our business, these attacks are, sadly, normal, and not talking about what happened is apparently unhealthy. Which I don’t want you to be. So just… let it happen and call me, okay? I’ll do anything to help you through it, fly anywhere to pick you up, do anything to make you feel better, okay?”

Peter nods, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy Tony. He surprises Peter – and maybe himself – by pulling him up and engulfing him in a hug. It’s just as crushing as the phantom-feeling of the warehouse a few seconds ago, but instead of panic, Peter is filled with a deep kind of warmth and safety, one that makes him relax and return the hug. “You’re safe, Peter. Remember that.”

Here in Tony’s arms, Peter really believes it; he is safe.

* * *

“Good afternoon, Mr. Parker,” Vision greets him as Peter enters the kitchen of the compound.

“Oh, hey, Mr. Vision,” he says, trying to not let the irritation in his voice show.

He fails.

“You sound quite irritated,” Vision observes, posture as rigid as ever. “Is something bothering you?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Based on my experience with human interaction, it is never _nothing_ , as you describe it. The appropriate course of action would be to talk about the issue.” He pauses as if he’s running calculations in his head. “Would you like to talk about it, Mr. Parker?”

There’s something strangely comforting about the way Vision acts, that makes Peter slump down on a stool around the kitchen island and start his rant. “I’m just so sick of everyone treating me like a kid! I mean, I get it, I’m not legally an adult yet, I can’t vote or drink or whatever, but I’m not some helpless child! I’m strong! I can fight! And yet everyone is still babysitting me during my patrol, even though it’s been _ages_ since anyone had to come help me. And everyone is like _did you do your homework_ or _did you get enough sleep_ or _you need to eat more healthy food_. Like I’m not able to look after myself. They’re babying me, and I don’t like it. Haven’t I earned their respect yet?” The last sentence sounds a lot whinier than Peter intended to, but it’s too late to change it now.

Vision is quiet for a moment, clearly thinking about what Peter just said and what to do next. The android got a lot better at interacting with humans, recognizing jokes – especially sarcasm and irony – better and better each time, but there’s still a certain seriousness about him. It’s something Peter quite likes about him. He really thinks about what he wants to say and doesn’t start to ramble like Peter would, treating every issue with the same kind of urgency and importance, no matter if it’s a question of buying smooth or chunky peanut butter (Peter witnessed the inner conflict that went on for 10 minutes with his own eyes before Vision chose the smooth one) or his next fighting move.

“I can understand your frustration,” he eventually says, carefully phrasing his words. “However, I do believe you are misinterpreting their actions. Based on all my observations, the Avengers prefer to show their affection through action instead of vocalizing them. They do not ask about your school work or diet because they do not think you are not capable of looking after yourself. They do it because that is how they show they care about you and your well-being. And I assure you, Mr. Parker, you earned their respect a long time ago.”

“How do you know?” Peter asks, words out of his mouth before he can stop them, intrigued by what Vision is saying.

“They talk quite proudly about all your accomplishments. Miss Romanoff proudly showed everyone the footage of your fight against the mugger last week, reminding everyone of how much your fighting skills have improved. Mr. Rogers and Mr. Wilson still talk about how you assisted them with stopping the drug ring two months ago. Mr. Stark showed everyone a copy of your report card, and we all agreed that it is very impressive you maintained such good grades while continuing your work as Spider-Man.” Vision makes a little pause to give Peter time to blink and try to process all of what he just heard. Peter thinks his brain would melt before he can accept that the Avengers do anything else but tease him about, well, _anything_ he does. “It may feel like being overly protective of you, but it is not all because of your assumed reasons. They only want you to be happy, Mr. Parker. And I do, too.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, his voice a little hoarse. “I guess… It just sometimes sucks to be the youngest one, you know?”

“Oh, but you are not the youngest one.” Peter blinks again, and there’s a small smile on Vision face, an almost mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I was only created a few years ago. You are older than me. If we assume that I am an adult and calculate your age proportionate to mine, then you already surpassed the lifespan of an average human.”

“Oh my God. Is this how Mr. Stark feels every time I call him old?”

* * *

Peter crawls up the side of the building, knocking against the window before slipping inside the apartment in Queens that is only ever occupied by one of the Avengers when Peter is patrolling. “Hey, Mr. Stark!” he greets the man in a chipper voice and pulls his mask off.

Tony looks up from whatever he’s been reading – from Peter’s spot by the window, it looks like a scientific journal – and raises one eyebrow. “Did you get stabbed?”

“What? No! Why-“

“Shot?”

“No, I-“

“Drugged?”

“No – I mean, not that I know of, but-“

“Then why are you here?”

“What do you mean? Can’t I just drop by to say hi?” Tony gives him a very unimpressed look that clearly tells him he’s not believing one word the boy is saying. Peter decides to drop the act, unable to lie to Tony anyways. “There’s just nothing happening out there!”

“And what am I supposed to do about it? Create more crime?”

“Of course not! But I was just thinking… how about a race?”

That seems to really grab Tony’s attention, making him abandon the magazine in his hands. “A race?”

Peter nods, dropping down on the couch next to him. “Yeah, because Ned and I have been thinking and-“

“Oh, it’s never good if the two of you start thinking.”

Peter ignores that comment. “-and we were just wondering who of us would be faster. You or me.”

Tony opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before actual words come out of it. “You do know how fast my suit can fly, right? That it breaks through the sound barrier as a warm-up, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said, too, but Ned made a very compelling argument.”

“And what would that be?”

“That you can only fly really fast, like, _really_ fast in an open space. And the city is not an open space. So, inside the city with all the buildings and tight spaces and not crashing into buildings and everything, you can’t be as fast as you want to. I, on the other hand, am a lot more flexible and agile with my webs.”

Peter can see that Tony is thinking about it in his eyes, the wheels turning in his head. He tries his best to not smile and just waits, hoping the man is curious enough to test it out. Eventually, Tony turns his attention back to his magazine, shaking his head a little, trying to seem absolutely nonchalant and disinterested by it. “Please. You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

He kind of already expected that answer, so Peter only shrugs and gets up from the couch, strolling back to the window. “Maybe not. But if we don’t test it, I can always claim that I’m faster than you. Allegedly, of course, but-“

That does the trick. There’s a soft thud from the spot where the magazine hits the table. “Oh, you’re on, Spiderling,” Tony threatens, already on his feet. “You’re gonna eat my dust!” Peter pulls the mask back over his face before Tony can see his wide grin, and jumps out of the window.

* * *

It’s almost eerily quiet in the cemetery, a devotional atmosphere spreading across the ground, like an invisible power that forces everyone to lower their voices a bit, to stand up a bit taller, to make a few less jokes. Even time seems to be affected by it, creating a little space in which normal rules don’t apply, bending and stretching minutes to feel like seconds or hours. Over the years, Peter has gotten quite used to this atmosphere. In the beginning, it used to freak him out – that and the overwhelming sadness he felt every time he visited their graves. But by now, it feels more like comfort. Like the place gives a little break from his stressful life to connect with the people he lost way too soon.

There are special days when he visits the graves of his parents and his uncle – their birthdays, the anniversaries of their deaths, holidays, whenever something big happened in his life. But sometimes, there’s this urge to visit them for seemingly no reason at all, like he would sometimes hug May wordlessly to bask in her warm comfort or shuffle into Tony’s lab to watch him work after a nightmare.

Peter has been feeling kind of off the entire day from the second he opened his eyes in the morning. He tried to ignore it, telling himself that everyone has bad days, but when his patrol turned out to be very uneventful, he decided to stop by the cemetery. No one is around to notice Spider-Man standing in front of three graves without his mask on anyway. Sometimes, he talks to the graves, pretending they’re actually hearing his words, but today he’s quiet, just staring at the tombstones, not really thinking about anything. There’s an ache in his chest.

He notices Wanda the second she’s close enough for him to hear her heartbeat, but he doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t say anything either, just joins him, standing next to him as silent and unmoving as the gravestones. For a second, he wonders what brought her here. It is her turn to watch over his patrols, but they usually only intervene when Peter is in danger of getting seriously hurt. Did she wonder what crimes Spider-Man stops at a cemetery? Did she worry because he hasn’t moved for such a long time? Did she somehow guess his sullen mood with her magic?

Peter doesn’t know, but he doesn’t ask either.

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity or a single breath; Peter can’t quite decide. Then, Wanda asks in a soft voice: “Did anything happen that you came here?” There’s no judgement in her voice, which kind of surprises Peter.

He shakes his head. “Just wanted to see them, I guess.” Now that he thinks about it, it sounds kind of creepy and weird, but she only hums, not asking anything else.

It takes him a few minutes to remember that she lost everyone, too. Her parents. Her brother. In this moment, he feels more connected to her than ever before. “I miss them,” he confesses, eyes still on the marked stones. “To be honest, I don’t have that many memories of my parents. Mostly just feelings and vague short clips in my head, based on all stories May and Ben told me. Sometimes, I feel guilty that I don’t miss them more.”

“You were young when they died,” Wanda says. Hearing those words from anyone else right now might have felt patronizing or like an excuse, but strangely enough, not from her. “But that doesn’t mean you love them any less.”

Peter doesn’t say anything, simply taking a deep breath to fight all the tears that are threatening to choke him up. His eyes focus on Ben’s grave. His heart hurts so bad, he actually thinks about asking Karen to check if he should see a cardiologist. “Do you miss your brother often?” he asks after some more time.

“Only with every heartbeat.” There’s something so sad in her voice, so broken, so desperate for the pain to go away, that Peter reaches out and grabs her hand. He can’t tell if she’s the one shaking or if it’s him.

He knows that feeling. He misses Ben _so much_. “Does it ever get easier?”

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “Sometimes, there are days where it hurts more than usual. Where it’s almost too much and it feels like the pain is clawing its way out of my chest. But sometimes… sometimes, there are days where I think of him and just… smile.”

“That sounds nice,” Peter says, hoping that one day, he’ll get there, too.

* * *

“Hey, Mr. Stark?” Tony hums in acknowledgment from his place in the kitchen where he still tries to feed Morgan some of the greenish mush. Morgan sees the attempt to get her more used to solid foods as an art project, somehow managing to get the food _everywhere_ , while everyone else sees it as a battle more arduous than the Sokovia Accords. “Why do you have a piano?”

“Well, why do people usually have a piano?” he asks back, pretending the spoon is a plane in hopes of getting her to eat it. Morgan just laughs, grabs the mush, and smears it across her face, none of it actually getting _in_ her mouth.

“I just didn’t know Miss Potts could play,” Peter comments, smiling brightly at the baby as she looks at him, probably also encouraging her behavior.

“Because she can’t.” Tony takes a damp cloth and wipes the food from Morgan’s face, which only amuses her even more. “But I can.”

“Wait, what?” Peter perks up, blinking at his mentor in mild confusion. Tony only nods, clearly not as surprised as Peter is. Which, okay, is understandable, but Peter still thinks his reaction is underwhelming. “ _You_? Can play the piano?” He’s never heard about that before, never read about it anywhere and he’s read a lot about Tony (he will never admit how much exactly), after all he wrote an eight-page long essay about him.

“Wow, rude,” he says, giving him a side glance, but despite the harsh tone, there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, I can play. Is it that difficult to imagine? I grew up rich, of course I play either the piano or the violin or… I don’t know what the other stereotypical instruments for rich people are these days.”

“Well… I guess it makes sense,” Peter mumbles, looking back to the black piano standing in the living room. “You are good with your hands.” Tony chuckles a bit, turning his main attention back to Morgan who grew bored and is currently trying to reach for the jar of her food. “I just never saw you play.”

“I rarely play anyway, and if I do, only when I’m by myself.” Finally giving up trying to get Morgan to eat the food instead of playing with it, he picks her up, cleans her face, and sets her down in her play den where she immediately grabs Spidey. “My mother often played it. Actually, she was also the one who taught me, so playing always reminds me of her.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say. Maria Stark is always a bit of a sore subject, in a different way than Howard Stark – his parents in general are not a great subject to talk about. In fact, this is the first time Tony’s mentioned her. His tone isn’t really sad, more melancholic. Peter knows that tone from himself; the kind of tone when you want to talk about someone dead, when you want to remember the happy days, but you just can’t forget the sadness.

So, of course, Peter starts to panic and rambles. “I don’t know how to play the piano.” The second the words leave his mouth, Peter deeply regrets it. Tony knows he can’t play the piano, the man knows Peter better than Peter knows himself. And it’s such a stupid thing to say, too! Like, Tony is standing here, thinking about the memories of his dead mother and Peter says something like _that_?! Can the ground beneath his feet please open up and swallow him? Just anything to get out of this awkward situation?

“I could teach you, if you want.”

Those words are not the ones Peter expects to hear – not that he really expected anything besides loud laughter. “What?”

Tony sniffs once and shrugs, slowly walking over to the piano, fingers brushing over the keys. “I mean, it’s completely fine if you don’t want to. I just-…” He keeps looking at the instrument for a second, completely lost in thought (Peter can hear a small skip in his normal, slightly irregular heartbeat), before shaking his head and turning back to him. “Forget what I said. Tinkering in the lab is more fun, anyway. So-“

“I would love to play the piano.” That is not completely true. Peter is not really a musically talented person. He had been in band, but that hadn’t been a good experience. At all. Everyone was relieved when he quit. But something about the way Tony offered it, about the look in his eyes – Peter could feel that it meant more to the man than he wants to show. So, how could Peter do anything else but accept that offer?

Tony seems just as surprise about Peter accepting his offer as Peter feels. He blinks a couple of times. “You don’t have to.”

“But I want to,” Peter says, deciding to take the initiative, and he sits down in front of the piano, looking at his mentor full of expectancy. “So, can you teach me? Please?” The smile that spreads on Tony’s face is small but very warm as he sits down next to him, showing him where to put his fingers.

* * *

“Mr. America,” Peter asks, not even embarrassed about calling him that anymore (not after all the times he called him literally any other version of his name but his actual name), “what is Sergeant Barnes like?”

Steve is obviously surprised by the question, blinking at Peter with wide eyes. Peter doesn’t think the question is that far-fetched – after all, he kind of secretly overheard Steve and Nat talking about Sergeant Barnes’ recovery process in Wakanda. So, really, can anyone blame him for asking? He knows he had been brainwashed, but other than him trying to punch him with his metal arm (which was _so_ awesome, like, Peter can’t find the right words to describe it) and throwing an airport sign at him (less awesome, but still pretty awesome), Peter has no idea what the man is like. He assumes he’s going to join the Avengers eventually, so he wants to be prepared. Maybe look up an appropriate joke or two.

Slowly, Steve opens his mouth to answer, but someone beats him to it. “He’s an asshole,” Sam comments from his spot on the couch where he’s reading a magazine.

“Sam,” Steve says in a voice that conveys all the emotions (especially the annoyance) he can’t put into words.

“What? I’m not wrong.”

“Bucky is not an asshole,” the super soldier says to Peter.

“Yeah, he is,” Sam throws in again. “You’re just too blind to see it. But he’s a major pain in the ass.”

“How about we stop saying ass in front of a kid?”

“I’ve heard worse,” Peter says with a small smile. Because he has heard worse – a lot worse – from Tony when he went onto a fifteen-minute rant about Justin Hammer.

Sam gestures to Peter. “See, he heard worse. I can call Barnes an asshole as many times as I want.”

Steve sighs deeply, for the first time looking like his actual age. “I think you would get along great with him, Peter,” he says, choosing to ignore Sam.

Sam is having none of it. “But he’s an-“

Steve throws an orange at his head. “Go back to reading your trashy gossip magazine, Wilson.”

* * *

The looming sense of failure and misery that Peter has come to associate with his future grows inside his chest as he scrolls through the college website. His eyes scan the words on it, but his brain isn’t really processing them. Instead it worries about everything that can go wrong – because there’s so much that can go wrong! Starting with not getting into any college at all. Or not graduating High School. Or-

A pillow is thrown at his head, almost making him drop his phone. “Stop ignoring me,” Tony says, joining him on his bed at the compound.

“I’m not ignoring you.” Because that would’ve implied that Peter noticed Tony entering his room – or talking to him – and choosing not to answer. But none of his enhanced senses had noticed Tony coming close, and his Spidey sense also didn’t warn him about the pillow.

Tony tries to take a look at his phone. “What demands your attention so much that you don’t even notice me?”

“Uh, nothing important,” Peter tries to lie – and fails, of course.

Tony gives him a very unimpressed look and snatches the phone out of his hands, ignoring Peter’s protests. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees what Peter was looking at. “Colleges?” Face already burning, the boy nods, not able to meet his mentor’s eyes. “Well, I’m not saying you’re too young to think about it, it’s good to have some plan for your future, but I thought you want to go to MIT?”

“I do,” he admits in a small voice.

“Then why look at other ones? Especially ones that – not to drag them or anything – don’t have the same kind of reputation and standard?”

The looming sense of failure almost crushes his lungs while it battles with the anxiety and panic that are also trying to get the upper hand in his inner turmoil. He starts pulling at his sleeves nervously, before Tony lays his hand on them, stopping the fidgeting. Slowly, Peter looks up again, straight into Tony’s face. There’s a small, encouraging smile on his face, eyes open and inviting him to share his troubles. A part of Peter marvels at the fact that he’s this close to _Tony Stark_. If someone told him it would be like this three years ago, he would’ve declared them insane.

Now, Peter only takes a deep breath and asks: “What if I don’t get in?”

“Into MIT?”

“Into any college.” For once, Peter actually wants to ramble, wants to explain where this fear of failure comes from and what’s going on inside his head, but the emotions inside him don’t let him speak, barely allowing him to breathe properly.

Tony drops the phone, brushing his now free hand through Peter’s curls quickly. “Buddy, you don’t have to worry about it. You’re by far the most intelligent teenager I know. No, you know what? You’re one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. Right there next to Brucie.”

“I’m not as smart as Dr. Banner,” Peter says immediately, because that thought is just as insane as it is awesome.

“No, you really are. The webs you created are absolutely amazing, I tell you that all the time. It takes a real genius to come up with something like that. And you’re still in High School. I can’t even imagine what you will create in the future.” Peter wants to avert his eyes, but Tony grabs his chin, forcing him to keep looking at him. “Any school that doesn’t trip over their own feet trying to get you to study there shouldn’t be called school. They would be insane to reject you. I’m telling you right now that we will be able to fill the pool with all of your acceptance letters. You will be able to study anywhere you want. And… And I know I’ve been kinda pushing MIT, but I will be proud of you no matter what school you choose, Peter. Don’t let me be the reason you’re not following your dreams.”

All the warmth and love and honesty in Tony’s voice pushes the anxiety inside Peter’s chest back far enough to be able to breathe again. However, it’s not completely gone. “And-And if I don’t go to any college?”

Tony’s mouth is already open, ready to answer, but he pauses, thinks again, before finally answering, “If you choose to not go to any college – which I think would be the only reason why you wouldn’t go – then that’s fine, too. There are plenty of other options, you know? Sure, a degree would make a few things easier, open a few more doors, but what’s that saying? Many roads lead to Rome. You don’t have to go to college if you don’t want to. I know I would hire you on the spot right now if it were legal and you would actually apply.” That coaxes a dry laugh out of Peter, which seems to satisfy Tony enough to finally let go of his chin. “I’m serious, kid. Don’t worry about getting into any schools. Getting accepted won’t be the problem, deciding where to go will be. And if you decide you don’t want to go, that’s fine. There are plenty of alternatives.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter says earnestly, because he really means it. Hearing those words did help ease the worry inside him.

Tony pats his hands a few times. “Of course, always. You know I just want you to be happy.”

Despite the mood, Peter just can’t himself, the smirk already pulling on his lips. “Oh? So, if I say that I’ll work for OsCorp because it makes me happy, would you-“

“Don’t even dare to finish that sentence, Parker, or I’m writing you out of my will.”

* * *

The quick press of MJ’s dry lips against his own lasts for only two seconds, but Peter knows then and there that those are the best two seconds of his entire life. Definitely. For sure. Nothing can ever beat this.

Well, he will know it when his brain is able to function again, because that little bit of pressure managed to short-circuit his entire brain, turning it into a useless pile of mush that can only produce a single thought: _MJ just kissed me. MJ just kissed me! MJ JUST KISSED ME!_

Like an idiot, Peter stares at her, mouth slightly agape, like it’s just waiting for him to say something suave or cool and seem totally collected. Which is the complete opposite of what he is right now. He’s not even sure if he can form words anytime soon again. Or, like, ever.

He doesn’t notice that he’s grinning like an idiot, cheeks flushed, the warmth fighting the biting cold air around them. No, Peter doesn’t notice it at all, because for that he would’ve needed a functioning brain. Which he doesn’t have, because _MJ just kissed me_!

MJ leans back a bit, eyes darting around, only staying on him for a second before moving away again – and then returning to him before repeating that cycle of looking and not looking. The corners of her mouth are pulled up slightly and there’s a twitch on her (blushing) cheek, like she’s fighting a smile. For a second, she bites her bottom lip, and Peter’s eyes zero in on it immediately, because that lip has just been pressed against his because MJ kissed him and holy shit, is she going to kiss him again or should he kiss her or will she decapitate him if he tries, but she kissed him first so she doesn’t, like, hate him, but what if she changed her mind or -

“I… should go,” she says, interrupting his thought vomit.

“Yeah.” Then, he actually realizes what she just said. “What?” Peter doesn’t want her to go. Like, ever. Okay, that’s maybe a bit creepy, but he knows he doesn’t want her to leave any time soon.

“It’s, uh, getting late,” she explains, already taking a step back. Almost unconsciously, Peter takes a step forward, stumbling after her like she has her own magnetic energy and he just can’t not follow. The muscle in her cheek twitches again. “And we’ve got school tomorrow.”

How could MJ think about something as trivial as school right now? But Peter doesn’t really have a good argument against it other than _I don’t want you to go just yet_. And he can’t say that. It’ll make him sound desperate, right? He doesn’t want to seem desperate.

But he also doesn’t want her to leave. “I could, like… I mean, if you want to, I could maybe walk-walk you home?”

She squints her eyes in a very MJ-like way. Peter wonders if she always looked so adorable doing that. Probably. Definitely. Also, since when is squinting adorable? And when did he start describing anything she does as adorable? “Because I’m unable to walk home myself?”

Peter’s face starts to burn. From all the decathlon practice they had, he knows the tone and knows he had to start backpaddling, like, five minutes ago. “Wh-What? No, because-… Well, I-I just thought, that… Maybe, I mean-“

To his utter surprise, she starts to smile, one that shows more in her eyes than the curve of her mouth. Peter has seen priceless art in Tony’s and Pepper’s home, but none of them compare to this sight.

(Oh, boy, he really has it bad, doesn’t he?)

“I was just messing with you,” she says, and he feels his heart skip a beat in relief. Or something else. Probably something else. Almost nervously, she starts tucking at the sleeves of her jacket, pulling them over her naked fingers. Peter thinks he should maybe give her his gloves – or maybe dare to take her hand, letting the burning heat inside him warm her – but before his brain can even really process that thought, MJ is already talking again. “You can do that. Walk me home, I mean.”

Peter’s heart skips two beats.

This time, MJ’s cheeks definitely blush, her eyes darting around again. “I mean, it’s not like I need you to walk me home or whatever. I’m absolutely capable of getting home by myself.”

“Yeah, totally,” Peter agrees in awe because of course she is. She’s MJ.

“But, like, if you really want to… I guess it’s… cool if you do or whatever.”

The smile on Peter’s face is so big, it has to be painful.

* * *

Tony’s present lays before Peter on the ground, almost finished. It would take literally less than a minute to finish it, just a few hand movements, nothing complicated, and it would be completed.

And yet, he’s sat on the ground of his bed room for almost an hour, staring at the present in the hope of it finishing itself. It doesn’t. Which means he has to finish it. Unless, of course, he decides to have a Christmas present for everyone except for Tony.

Peter sighs, looking back at the present. It’s a wooden picture frame with the words _World’s Best Dad_ on top of it. He painted it red and gold, giving it Tony’s typical extravagant touch. Now the only thing that is missing is the picture inside it. Which is the entire problem of the present.

There is the safe option: A picture of Tony and Morgan, looking at each other, smiling brightly and looking utterly happy and domestic.

Then, there’s the other option: A picture of Peter and Morgan, both sitting on the ground playing with her toys, also looking very happy and domestic.

His eyes stay on the picture of him and Morgan. That was his original idea, and he doesn’t hate it. In fact, there’s almost something like a longing inside him to choose that picture, but he’s afraid he’s overstepping. Sure, Tony has described Peter as family; but a second cousin thrice removed is still technically family, so what if that’s what Tony means when he says family? Someone you invite to all the celebrations because you’re kind of obligated to, someone you call on their birthday because they’re family and it would be rude not to, someone you can tolerate for a few hours but you’re always happy when they leave again and you don’t have to see them again for a couple of weeks.

What if Tony doesn’t think of him like a son? Because Peter thinks of Tony as his dad. He’s been doing that for a while now, but has never said the words out loud, too afraid the man will laugh in his face or – worse – not think the same of him. This is his more-or-less subtle way of showing Tony what Peter feels.

Unless, of course, he chooses the other picture. Peter knows Tony would love it. He loves every picture of him and Morgan. Nobody would have to know about the thoughts that are running through Peter’s head, about the attachment he developed, about him finding another father-figure even though he’s already had two and he’s almost an adult now. It could all be a quiet secret, hidden underneath all of his insecurities and self-doubt and thoughts about bothering one of the most famous people alive too much.

Another twenty minutes later, Peter finally chooses a picture.

* * *

There’s a sudden crackling sound in his comms that makes Peter jump. “Karen, what’s that?”

“ _It appears that-_ “ Another crackling sound, cutting the AI off before she can finish her sentence, filling Peter’s ears with white noise.

Panic starts to rise in his chest. “Karen? You okay?” There’s no answer, only more white noise. This never happened before. The suit never malfunctioned before. Until now, Peter was convinced that the suit is completely unable to malfunction. “Guys? I think there’s something wrong with my suit.” He gets no answer.

Just when he’s about to repeat the question, his entire vision goes dark. Peter blinks a couple of times, but doesn’t hear the usual, almost silent shutter sound of the lenses of his mask. Telling himself that there’s no reason to panic, he yanks his mask off. Sure enough, he can see perfectly. Which means there’s something wrong with his suit. Which also means there probably is a reason to panic because this shouldn’t happen.

There’s a small voice in the back of his head telling him to continue the mission, that the others are counting on him. But fighting with damaged equipment is really stupid, he knows that from experience. Besides, Tony is outside. He can probably run a quick scan of his suit and tell him what the problem is, maybe even fixing it right then and there.

Peter is about to turn around and head back outside – or at least find Steve, Clint, or Nat who are in the other wings of the building and ask them for help – when his neck starts to tingle. However, before he can react, there’s a sharp prick in his neck, making him yelp. Instinctively, his hand shoots to the spot, pulling out a small syringe – a syringe that’s empty. A second later, Peter feels something cold spreading through his body.

This is definitely a reason to panic.

He wants to scream for help, hoping that anyone will hear him, but he’s lost all control of his body. A strange numbness fills him, making his mind fuzzy and sluggish. Suddenly, Peter is on the floor, lying on his side, staring at two pairs of black boots that are coming closer.

 _Help me_ , he thinks, unable to move a single muscle. Then, Peter closes his eyes and doesn’t open them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you go back to the second chapter and re-read all of those flashbacks, knowing about all of these memories, it'll hurt even more :)
> 
> I actually really love how this chapter turned out. Originally, I planned for this to be the last chapter but then I got the idea of showing Peter's memories and it got so long that I had to split it into two. And I have to compliment myself, because I really love all of Peter's memories which I didn't expect. I can't even say which one is my favourite because they all have their unique charms. Which one did you like the best. 
> 
> There is one more chapter to go!! I honestly can't believe this is almost over.


	8. Hagen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then, he remembers.   
> Everything.   
> It’s worse than a building collapsing on him, worse than water filling his lungs. It feels like a train hit him at full speed, pressing all the air that just filled his lungs out of them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> So. This is the last chapter. The end. I'm weirdly emotional about it.
> 
> Thank you so, so much to everyone who supported this story by leaving comments, kudos, and bookmarks!! ❤ Seeing your reactions to this story made it so much more fun to share! 
> 
> I once again wanna thank [ghostly-blues](https://ghostly-blues.tumblr.com/) who beta-read everything for me! And, of course, I wanna thank [lunannex](https://lunannex.tumblr.com/), too, who was my partner for this project and created th beautiful art! Thank you so much!! ❤❤
> 
> And now, the last chapter. Enjoy!

There’s a strange state between waking up and being asleep where you start to hear and feel and smell things but you’re not yet aware that you’re waking up. When you still think you’re dreaming, thinking that everything around you is not real.

That’s what Peter is feeling right now.

For a blissful moment, he is sure it’s another part of his dream before his muddled brain finally realizes that something is… different. Way too still for his usual vibrant and zany dreams. Peter waits for a second, hoping that maybe something will happen that shows him it’s a normal dream. But it doesn’t. Slowly, he comes to the realization that this is not a dream.

The things his senses pick up start to make sense, clearing the fog in his brain. A beeping, repetitive sound, a soft drip-drip-drip, a prominent sharp smell of disinfectant, something soft all around him. There’s a dull ache in his back, but no pain. Peter tries to move his hand a bit, but it feels like lead, absolutely unable to move it.

Panic starts to rise in his chest. He’s drugged – his muddled thoughts, the inability to move his body, the numb, bodyless feeling inside him; all of those are clear indications. Peter has been taught what to do when he’s been drugged (who taught him? A man? A woman? Both? He can’t remember) and that’s trying to figure out how much control over his body. That answer is easy: close to no control at all. No matter how much the boy tries to move, he can’t even wiggle his toes. He almost feels locked inside his own body.

The panic inside him builds up, pumping through his body with every heartbeat. Peter tries to keep calm, to clear the fog in his head long enough for him to remember what else he can do: figure out what is real and what is a side effect of the drug. He’s pretty sure the smell is real as well as the soft thing around him. The sounds could be fake.

With a lot more effort than he liked, Peter manages to open his eyes. It’s almost blinding, completely engulfing him in some white light. Slowly, the brightness ebbs away, making him see different shapes in different tones that become sharper and sharper with each second he manages to keep his eyes open. He’s in a hospital room, lying in a spacious bed. Several machines are connected to him, an IV stuck into his arm. No one else besides him is in here.

Giving himself a moment to relax, Peter just lays there and breathes. His senses aren’t clearing up. Maybe they give him the drug through the IV? And who are _they_? What kind of people does he know, anyway? Somehow, that question seems important. There’s something really important about people and his connection to them. The answer is right there on the tip of his tongue, so close he can practically visualize it – but still out of reach.

Peter decides to not focus on that new problem and deal with his old problem. Being drugged and unable to move. Being able to move is vital for surviving and escape, which should be his top priority. He thinks. Someone taught him that, but – again – he can’t remember who that someone was. After several tries, he eventually manages to move his right hand a bit. It leaves him feeling even more drowsy than before, but Peter is rewarded with a new feeling underneath his fingertips.

It’s something solid and small, barely the size of his palm. When he brushes over it, he hears another soft click. Curious as to what it is, Peter scrapes together every bit of strength inside him and rolls his head just enough to the side to take a look at the thing. The thing, it turns out, is a button of some sorts, shining in a bright red. He presses down on it again, interested in what the button does, but as soon as he puts any pressure on it, the device crumbles, smashed into small metal pieces scattered around his bed.

Peter tries to remember if buttons are supposed to do that or if he’s been too strong. The fog in his head begins to thicken as the drowsiness takes over, pulling him back into the waiting arms of unconsciousness. Just as his eyes start to slip close again, people storm into the room. He can hear them talk, but before he can even try to focus on their words, he’s already gone again.

* * *

The next time Peter wakes up, it’s easier. His senses don’t need as long as before they sharpen, telling him that he’s still in the same room as before. The numbness is still there, so he guesses he’s still drugged, but he can move his fingers easier. His eyes need a moment to adjust, but at least his foggy mind is clearer. Not completely clear, but his thoughts don’t seem like a tangled mess anymore.

Then, Peter notices that he’s not alone.

The heartbeat is the first thing he hears, even before the smell fills his nostrils. It’s very familiar, spreading a calmness inside him that coaxes him into believing that this is just fine, that he doesn’t need to worry. He has an idea who it is, but Peter turns his head anyways, taking a good look at the person sitting on the chair next to his bed. “May.”

May’s eyes are watery, even though she smiles brightly. “Hey, honey,” she whispers in a hoarse voice, taking his hand in hers. 

Something happened, Peter is sure of it. Why else would he be in a hospital? Why else would May look like this; sad and happy at the same time? But he can’t remember. It’s been something important, that much he knows.

“How are you feeling?” May asks, pulling him out of his muddled thoughts.

“Ti’ed,” he answers truthfully. The drug is still doing its best job to pull him back under, but he’s not quite ready to go back yet.

“You can sleep,” she permits, running a gentle hair through his hair. The gesture is nice and Peter’s eyes drift close on their own, already following May’s command. “You need a lot of rest.”

“Sad?” he only manages to mumble, because he just has to know why May is sad before he leaves again.

May’s laugh echoes through the room, drowning out the sounds of the machines. “No, Peter, I’m not sad. I’m happy that you’re feeling better.”

Peter wants to ask more questions, like why is he in the hospital? Was he hurt badly? Did he have surgery? Are Ben and Tony going to stop by, joking around and doing their best to get him to laugh? No, wait. Something is not right about that, but he doesn’t know what exactly. But May continues to run her hand through his hair, and he’s gone before he can find the answer to his questions.

* * *

The third time he wakes up, Peter knows immediately that the drug is almost completely gone out of his system. The numbness is gone, making him aware of how sore his back is. He wants to move, maybe getting rid of that feeling, but a voice at the back of his head tells him that it’s not a good idea. At once, all his senses are sharp, piercing through the veil of his unconsciousness and ripping him into reality. When he finally blinkingly opens his eyes, the now familiar room around him sharpens immediately, everything exactly as it has been before.

Except for his visitor.

Tony hasn’t noticed that Peter is awake yet. He’s dressed casually in a sweater and what looks like sweatpants, a pair of clear glasses on his nose (not some sunglasses that he adores to wear in public, but actual clear I-need-them-for-reading-glasses), eyes on the StarkPad in his hand, a finger hovering over it. Peter takes a second to look at the man. There’re dark shadows under his eyes, and wrinkles etched into his face that speak of tiredness and worry. However, his eyes are as alive as always, showing the never-resting genius inside him, the one that looks at basically anything and gets inspired by it, sees ways to transform, perfection, or fix it.

Suddenly, as Peter continues to observe Tony, there’s a sudden stab in his heart, like something squeezes it, making it hurt to look at the man. It’s so out of the blue that Peter can’t help but gasp at the sensation, wondering why it’s happening.

The sound makes Tony look up. Immediately, he abandons the tablet and throws his glasses on it, leaning over his bed and putting a hand against his cheek. “Peter? Are you okay?”

Peter takes a deep breath, looking at Tony’s eyes that are basically spilling over with all the worry in them, the willingness to do anything to make Peter feel better an unspoken promise between them. Suddenly, the pain around his heart melts away, leaving as quickly as it appeared. Breathing got easier, air actually filling his lungs again. “Y-Yeah,” he manages, still unable to look away from Tony. “I’m good. What-“

Then, he remembers.

Everything.

It’s worse than a building collapsing on him, worse than water filling his lungs. It feels like a train hit him at full speed, pressing all the air that just filled his lungs out of them again.

That mission where his suit malfunctioned. HYDRA. Everything he did for them. Going back to the compound. The attack. The blood in his veins is replaced by a cold feeling of dread, his heart beating twice as fast, and if it weren’t for Tony’s steady hand pressing against his shoulder, Peter would’ve jumped out of the bed. “Is everyone okay? Did anybody get hurt? Is May-“

“Everyone is fine,” Tony is quick to say, the pressure on Peter’s cheek increasing, “They’re all fine, Peter. May is fine. She’s sleeping right now. Do you want to see her? FRIDAY can wake her up.” As if he’s reading Peter’s still panicking thoughts, Tony takes the tablet, swipes around it, and shows Peter a live-feed from May’s room. Indeed, she’s lying in her bed unmoving except for her slowly rising and falling chest. At the sight, Peter actually manages to calm down somewhat. That’s right. May has already visited him, he remembers. “She’s fine. Everyone is fine.”

“What time is it?”, he asks, trying to get some grasp of reality.

“About half past two in the morning,” Tony answers as he puts the tablet back on the little side table and sits down on Peter’s bed. One hand is still on Peter’s shoulder, the other one lying slack on his chest, clearly ready to jump back into action if needed.

“Same day?” Peter only asks, because it feels like he’s been asleep for years.

The way Tony’s heartbeat picks up for a second lets him know that it’s not the same day, even before the man mutters a single word. “No. You’ve been asleep for a few days. Missed Christmas. But don’t worry, Morgan is already planning to have a second Christmas as soon as you’re up for it. Although, I think it’s more because she is spoiled and wants to have even more Christmas presents.”

“’s fine,” Peter mumbles, the ghost of a smile pulling against his lips. “I didn’t celebrate Christmas for the last couple of years, I’m used to it.”

It was meant to be a joke, something to cut the tension between them. But it backfired. A lot. Tony sucks in a breath, his body suddenly as rigid as a stick. He tries to seem more at ease and fails. “Well, that settles it then,” he says, voice strained. “We’re going to have a second Christmas. And a third and fourth. Hell, let’s go all the way and have Christmas every week! We can-“

“Stop,” Peter says. “I’m serious. I don’t need Christmas.”

“Are you sure? Because it would involve Capsicle dressed as Santa and Sam totally overselling it.”

“I’m sure. Besides, I get to see it next Christmas, right?” The words slipped out of his mouth before Peter could even process them.

For a second, Tony looks a bit stunned, like a little error notification just popped up in his head. Then a small, loving smile stretches across his face, eyes getting watery. “Of course, buddy,” he promises. “Cap will wear that stupid costume every Christmas until eternity.”

“You know there will be a day Morgan stops believing in Santa Clause, right?”

“I know, but don’t tell Steve, he loves that job.” Somehow, Peter totally believes it and for a second, he just dwells on the fantasy of celebrating with his family.

But then, the second is over and he has to face reality, no matter how much he wants to hide from it. “I got shot.”

The words seem to drain all the color from Tony’s face. Clearly, the man would’ve preferred to continue to talk about Christmas, too. But deflection is not an option right now. Tony sits up straight, pulling his hands in his lap, an almost business-like expression on his face. Not as good as Pepper’s, but it does the job. “Yes,” he answers. “The bullet missed your heart by a bit. They dug it out, and thankfully nothing important was damaged. Your enhanced healing factor was affected by the electro shock, but the doctors think it should recover.” He takes Peter’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You are going to be fine, Peter. I promise.”

Peter doesn’t tell Tony that he doesn’t think he’s able to keep that promise. Not when they’re talking about mental health, too.

Instead, he asks a different question. “It was Thomas, right?” A flash of anger crosses Tony’s face, almost too fast to see. “The one who shot me.”

A breath gets caught in Tony’s throat, his heart skipping a beat – he’s lying. “No. Just some random goon, I think.”

The temptation of believing that lie is strong. Peter could believe that the man who lied to him for two years, who made him think that he’s family, didn’t try to kill him. But there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to even consider accepting that lie. He has to deal with the reality of what happened. “I can tell when you lie to me, y’know?”

Tony visibly deflates at that statement. “I prefer when it was the other way around. When you couldn’t lie and believed everything I said.” Peter doesn’t answer, knowing it would not get him closer to getting the answers he needed. Tony starts to fidget, tapping his fingers against his leg, bracing himself to the conversation they’re about to have. “It was him, yes.”

Peter knew that the answer was coming, but it still feels like a slap across the face. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to ignore all the memories of Thomas being nice to him (laughing at his jokes, smiling at him after an especially murderous training session with Schneider, being the only friendly face around him for two years). “Is he dead?”

“Probably,” Tony answers, his voice colder than ice. “I didn’t bother checking.” There’s more to that sentence than he wants to let on, something that makes Peter think Tony was the one who killed him – but in the end, Peter doesn’t ask.

“Did he say anything?” Peter hates that he has to ask that question. He doesn’t want to care about Thomas or his opinions or whatever – he lied to him, he used him. And yet he can’t stop himself from asking. He’s not quite sure what it is. Maybe desperation. Maybe the small, frail hope that he did mean something to the man.

Tony doesn’t want to answer the question. Which means that it hasn’t been anything good. “Only a bunch of crap,” he says. “Nothing you have to think about anymore.”

“Did he say why they did it?”

“Peter-“

“Look, I just-“ He stops, taking a deep breath, trying to get a hold of his emotions. His eyes already start burning, tears threatening to gather in them. Blinking angrily, Peter moves to sit up, pain shooting at his back at the sudden movement. Tony moves to push him down again, but Peter only shakes his head. For a moment, he thinks the man will still press him back down, but instead the hands on his shoulders start to lift him up, helping him get into a sitting position.

Somehow, Peter hoped the new position would help him deal with all of this, maybe give him a new perspective – but it doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t. Tony is still watching him like a hawk, like he expects him to disappear the second he looks away. Given their history, it’s not that unlikely. Peter takes a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what’s coming. “I just need to know, okay? Whatever it is, I can take it.”

“I don’t want to see you hurt,” he says in a surprisingly soft voice. It’s almost enough to make Peter drop it. Almost. Instead, Peter only lightly shakes his head, indicating Tony to go on. There’s a battle going on in his head, the boy can see it in Tony’s eyes. He wants to protect Peter from whatever Thomas said, but he also doesn’t want to lie to him. Or maybe he just knows that Peter needs to know it. “He said it was an experiment. The Winter Soldier failed because he had no connection to HYDRA.”

“So, they created a super soldier who has a connection to them.” Tony gives him a curt nod. A knot forms in Peter’s stomach. “And they used your looks to trick my subconsciousness.”

“Pretty much.”

The tears are burning in his eyes again, but Peter refuses to cry. He will not shed anymore tears for Thomas, he will not drown in self-pity over how he lied to him, how he used him, how he played with his emotions as if it was a game to him.

Tony’s mouth is already open again, but before he can say anything, Peter is talking again, trying to distract himself from Thomas. “The man I fought. The one that electrocuted me. What happened to him?”

“Steve took care of him.”

Peter thinks about Schneider for a moment. He hated that man, especially after his first mission. Even though they started to get along after several months and he taught him so much as he turned him into a weapon, Peter never really liked that guy. He respected him, yes, but he still would’ve punched his teeth out if he thought he was allowed to.

Funnily enough, Schneider had been the only one who never lied to him. Peter doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Tony’s hand that lands on his own, squeezing it again, cuts through his thoughts, pulling him back into the here and now. His eyes are full of determination, like he can force his optimism and confidence on Peter if he just tries hard enough. “It’s over.”

“No,” Peter whispers. He wants it to be over. God, he wants it to be over _so much_. But it’s not. Before Tony can respond, Peter continues. “There are more.” He thinks about Wolkow, wonders if he survived the shot, wonders if he will come after him to end what Schneider and Thomas started. “And they have my web formula, my DNA. Thomas did research on enhanced people. I think he looked for a way to recreate them. What if he found a way? What if he already shared it with the rest of HYDRA and-“

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony shushes him, cupping Peter’s face in his hands. Only now does Peter notice his too fast breathing, the panic that slowly started to squeeze his chest until he couldn’t take another breath. Tony waits until he has enough of Peter’s attention to get his point across. “None of that is your fault. Okay? _They_ did it, not you.”

“I could’ve stopped it,” he gasps, the tears slowly starting to spill out of his eyes. “I could’ve stopped them so many times! For two years, my neck tingled and I just thought it was normal. So often, I heard a voice in the back of my head telling me that it’s wrong what I’m doing, that I should do something else. I ignored all of that. I just did everything they asked me to do, even though deep down I knew it wasn’t right.”

The first time Peter realized that everything he’s done in the last two years has not been for the good of the world has been devastating, but this is even worse. Because now he knows who HYDRA is, knows all the signs that have been there the entire time, knows the full extent of what he’s done. He killed people. A sob rips out of his throat and the dam inside him breaks, letting him wail and cry openly.

He _killed_ people. And he maybe gave HYDRA enough information to hurt even more people.

A strong pair of arms wraps around him, pressing him against Tony’s chest. Peter literally melts inside his arms, unable to stop the tears or the sobs, while Tony rocks him lightly, one hand rubbing his back, the other one pressed at the back of his head. He’s also talking, probably something soothing and calming, but Peter can’t hear it, only feels the rumble in Tony’s chest, as the hurt and despair fill Peter’s body.

They sit like that for a long time, long after Peter’s tears have already tried up again, leaving him feeling exhausted and somewhat hollow. Tony stops the rocking, instead running one hand through Peter’s curls.

“Sometimes, bad things happen to us,” Tony says eventually, voice barely loud enough to be heard, “and then we have to do bad things to survive. It’s not fair, but it’s life. Nobody – _nobody_ – will hold anything of what happened against you, Peter. We know you would never do it.” The billionaire clearly means for the words to be comforting, but they only hurt more, ripping open a new wound because how could’ve Peter let all of that happen if it’s so against his nature? “And we will deal with the rest _together_. You’re not alone in this. Everything will be okay, I promise you.”

Peter wants to believe him so bad, but he’s having a hard time when everything feels this hopeless.

To give himself something else to focus on, Peter addresses the other elephant in the room. “Wanda was in my head?”

Around him, Tony tenses, and it takes Peter grasping his arm for the man to relax again. “She was,” he answers. “May asked if it would be easier this way. That’s why you’ve been asleep for so long. Your head needed a bit more time to heal than your body did.”

“It worked,” Peter commented, hearing the questions Tony doesn’t dare to ask.

The response is immediate. Peter can literally feel the weight of a mountain drop from Tony’s shoulders, the arms around him tightening to the point that it almost hurts. Peter doesn’t mind. It reminds him that this is real. Tony presses a kiss against his cheek. “I’ve missed you so much, kid,” he whispers, voice shaking with too many emotions. “So damn much.”

“I missed you, too,” he says. He may not have known who exactly he was missing, but Peter always felt like something important was missing, something Thomas’ imitation couldn’t quite fill.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” Tony decides, somehow managing to coax a watery laugh from Peter. “I’m serious. You better get used to sharing, kid, because I will _always_ be there.”

“I thought you meant, like, implanting a chip or something.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

It’s meant to be a joke, Peter knows it. But that joke falls short, leaving Peter with a different thought. “Maybe you should,” he says seriously.

Tony tenses again, moves a little, maybe to look at him. “Peter?”

“What if it’s going to happen again, Mr. Stark?” That terrifies him even more than the realization of what he did – because what if it happens again? He doesn’t know if he would survive that.

To Peter’s surprise, Tony lets go of him, pushing him away far enough to look into his hard eyes. “It _won’t_ happen again,” he promises, so completely and utterly convinced of it that Peter can’t help but listen to him. “It won’t. You hear me? I won’t let it happen again, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

That promise is easier to believe. Because Tony already brought him back once, so surely he could do it again.

When Peter nods, Tony draws him closer again, his hand back in his curls, pulling all the haunting thoughts out of his head with every brush. The tension leaves his body, and even though Peter slept for several days, a new wave of exhaustion comes over him.

His eyes fall on the side table. “Hey, Mr. Stark?” he mumbles against Tony’s chest who only hums. “When did you get so old that you need glasses?”

Tony laughs (a deep one that starts in his belly and shakes his entire body), and Peter can’t help but smile at that.

* * *

“Ow, stop that!” Tony looks back at the little thing in his arms, carefully balancing it even though it tries its best to get out of his grip. “What? You want me to drop you? Don’t really think that’s a good idea, pal.”

As an answer, it continues to chew on his hand, but Tony already reached Peter’s door. It’s slightly ajar, so Tony only needs to nudge it open with his foot a little to see May and Peter sit on his bed, talking in hushed voices. That is until Tony steps into the room.

Peter’s eyes go as big as saucers, gasping at what he’s seeing. “Mr. Stark!”

May looks like she can’t decide if she wants to sigh or smile. It’s an expression Tony is very familiar with.

“Surprise,” Tony only says, adjusting his grip a little.

Peter is still speechless. “This is literally what he wished for Christmas, like, four times in a row,” May smiles. “Iron Man bringing him a puppy.” Tony looks down at the small dog in his hands who is trying his best to get out of his arms, excited to see new people and eager to greet them.

“You got yourself a puppy?” Peter asks, eventually getting enough control of himself to jump out off his bed and race over to him, taking a closer look at the excited dog.

“Wrong,” Tony answers, pushing the dog to Peter’s chest the second he’s close enough. “I got _you_ a puppy.”

Peter’s brain has stopped working, staring from Tony to the puppy inside his arms, who’s busy licking his face. “Tony,” May says, coming over as well, sounding way too calm to actually be calm, “did you think this through?”

“Of course, I did.” He hasn’t. Not at all. On his drive back from the city to the compound, he passed an animal shelter and made the snap decision. Ever since Tony met Peter, the boy had asked for a dog, fully aware that their landlord doesn’t allow pets but relentless nevertheless. However, Tony is their landlord now; well, more or less, seeing that they’re staying at the compound. And Tony allows everything that’ll make Peter happy.

So, he parked in front of the shelter and asked for the smartest puppy they have. The puppy had been dropped off at the shelter only a few days after Christmas, originally a Christmas present for some kids, but the family couldn’t handle the seemingly hyperactive dog who quickly figured out how to jump on the couch and _cause havoc_ , to quote the family. In Tony’s ears, the dog sounded perfect for Peter.

The puppy is male and a mixed breed, nobody quite sure what kind of breeds are in him exactly, but the employees at the shelter guess that there’s some Australian Shepherd or Border Collie in him, judging by the shape of his head. His fur is soft and full of promises to shed _a lot_ , colored white with so many black and brown spots on him that you could also say he’s brown with white and black spots or black with brown and white spots. One floppy ear is entirely black, the other one is brown, and there’s a white circle between his blue eyes. He is objectively pretty adorable, and judging by the look on Peter’s face, he already loves him. It’s the happiest Tony has seen him since Peter woke up with his memories.

For a little over a week now, Peter has had his memories back. The medical staff allowed him to leave the med bay pretty soon, seeing that his wound is mostly healed, his enhanced healing factor kicked back in, and Peter is staying at the compound, anyway. Everyone had been so excited to see Peter again, relieved that he’s well (at least physically) and has his memories back. Morgan latched onto him like a leech, showing him all the toys she got from Santa and all the pictures she drew for him with her new crayons, even allowing him to have Spidey with him at night as long as he promises to take good care of the stuffed animal. Peter smiled and thanked everyone, obviously a bit uncomfortable with so much attention, but he wasn’t complaining.

However, everyone could see that the boy is far from fine.

Peter has always had a certain disregard for the need of personal space, invading Tony’s little, personal bubble from the very first day, even surviving getting too close to Nat without being beheaded. Whenever he was in distress, a hug or just something like a hand on his shoulder would calm him down.

Now, personal contact makes him tense like he’s expecting an attack or to be hurt. (Tony tries not to think too much about what that means, tries not to think about the way HYDRA must have treated him, because if he would, he would suit up and fly around the world until there’s not a single HYDRA agent left.) Peter still seeks out the nearness of the others, sitting close enough to feel their body heat, to reassure himself that they’re still there, that he’s not alone, but never actually touching. All of them learned pretty quickly that they can only touch Peter without freaking out when he is the one initiating it or when they move slow enough for him to guess what’s going to happen next.

Morgan and May are the only exceptions from this. Whenever one of them touches him, either May running a hand through his hair or Morgan sitting herself on his lap, demanding a story, all of them can see how his muscles relax and how his tense shoulders drop a bit.

Tony tries not to be bitter about the fact that he isn’t part of that small circle. He knows Peter still sometimes sees the ghost of Thomas when he looks at Tony. Then, there’s a sudden wall behind his eyes and he slouches, like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. Sometimes, on the bad days, Peter even flinches. Needless to say, Tony absolutely _hates_ it. Hates that HYDRA dared to take advantage of their relationship like that and damaged it so deeply.

Tony would do anything to separate himself from Thomas; he bought hair-dye in every color of the rainbow, and his razor is always charged, ready to get rid of the beard the second Peter only breathes a light suggestion. However, whenever Tony offers to do any of that, Peter only shakes his head, saying he doesn’t want Tony to change. Every time he says that, there’s a sharp stab in Tony’s chest. Peter calls everyone by their first name now or some nickname, like America instead of Steve. Except for Tony, who is still Mr. Stark. For the first time since Tony met the boy, he’s not correcting him. Hell, Peter can call him whatever he wants; Mr. Stark, Anthony, Edward, whatever he wants. As long as it makes him forget about Thomas.

Natasha is watching Peter. Peter knows she’s watching him, and she knows that he knows. Well, they all know at this point. Tony isn’t quite sure what exactly she’s trying to find. Maybe a hint that Peter is going to break or lose his mind. Maybe something that would indicate he’s still not Peter. Maybe something that only people who’ve been through what they’ve been through can see. Whatever it is, Tony is relieved that she’s looking out for him, ready to jump into action and help him at the lightest jerk.

Because Tony has absolutely no idea how to help. He feels completely helpless, because it feels like he’s stumbling around in the dark. Since that night when Peter woke up, he hasn’t muttered a single word about his time at HYDRA, about what he did or experienced. Tony has no idea what might trigger Peter and make him retreat back into his newly built shell. He wants to be there for Peter, wants to be the shoulder he cries on and leans against for support, but the boy seems hell-bent on dealing with his trauma by himself. Tony once hinted at the idea of seeing a therapist and the boy left the room so fast, Tony could’ve missed his exit if he had blinked.

So, Tony does whatever he can. He, of course, lets Peter and May stay at the compound for however long they want to. He supports May when she’s trying to figure out what to do now, knowing she still wants to be as close to Peter as possible (and vice versa) but also wanting to get back to work someday. He pays for all their expenses. He’s there whenever Peter so much as whispers his name.

And he got him a puppy. Tony hopes maybe the dog will help Peter open up or maybe give him something to do, because until now he’s kind of been doing nothing. Not working in the lab, not training, not even watching Star Wars for the millionth time. Just sitting around and occasionally playing with Morgan. It’s the stillest the boy has ever been.

“I thought we could register him as a service animal or something,” Tony explains, as Peter sinks to the floor, still staring at the dog in awe. “So he can always be with you.” Suddenly, Tony wonders if that’s actually something you can just do or not. Probably not. Well, doesn’t matter. He’s Tony Stark and he’s got tons of money – most of the time, that’s enough to get anything he wants.

“Oh my God,” Peter only whispers.

“I know you probably would’ve chosen a dog that nobody else would’ve wanted,” Tony continues to ramble, suddenly feeling the need to explain what he’s been thinking, an unusual nervousness running through his body, “but I thought we should start with a puppy, get him trained properly. And then we can work on other dogs.”

Peter’s head snaps back up to him and May arches an eyebrow. “More dogs?” Peter asks, because of course that’s the only thing he heard from Tony’s little speech.

“As many as you want, buddy.” And Tony means it. If it means that Peter will start to feel better, will start to heal, Tony will buy him a god damn zoo. They have enough space here at the compound anyway, and if the Avengers aren’t on a mission, they have quite a bit of spare time. Plus, Tony knows everyone here loves animals, so why not get some?

“Okay, I’m officially not part of this,” May declares, trying to look stern, but Tony can see the spark of amusement in her eyes as she lowers herself to the floor next to Peter. The puppy immediately turns to her, starting to sniff her excitingly and licks her fingers. “Everything to do with dogs is your business, Tony. Your responsibility.”

“I’m fine with it,” Tony smiles, joining them on the floor.

“I’m not, like, dreaming or anything, am I?” Peter asks, finally able to tear his eyes away from the dog to look at Tony. “This is real? You-You got me a dog?”

“Totally real. This one-“ he points to the puppy who notices he’s the center of attention and wags his tails happily, “is all yours.”

“Oh my God,” Peter whispers again, petting the puppy who ran back to him, “thank you so, _so_ much, Mr. Stark! Like, wow! I can’t believe it!”

Tony only smiles. “Got a name for him yet?”

Peter thinks about it for a second. “Hagen.”

“Hagen?” both Tony and May repeat, more than a bit surprised. Tony would’ve bet everything he owned that Peter would choose some kind of movie reference, like Han or Luke or something from all those vines he loved to watch, maybe even Ben to honor his uncle.

“Yeah, Hagen,” Peter repeats, a small smile stretching on his face as he rubs the puppy’s belly, his decision to name the dog Hagen strengthened.

“How did you come up with that name, honey?” May asks, obviously just as curious as Tony.

Peter doesn’t answer immediately, eyes firmly trained on Hagen. “There’s a legend about a hero called Siegfried who’s invulnerable,” he explains, “and Hagen is the one who kills him.”

It takes everything from Tony not to react to this. Because this is the new Peter. The Peter who carries a knife with him wherever he goes. The Peter who made an absentminded comment about Sam’s technique when the ex-soldier jokingly threatened to kill Barnes again. The one who takes hour-long morning runs with Steve, the one who is fluent in German and Russian, the one who can drive a car like a natural, the one who enters a room and immediately looks for possible entry and exit points, the one who can lie through his teeth and is able to sniff out everyone else’s lies. The one who names a puppy after the murderer of his alter-ego.

Tony just prays that this is a step forward and not backwards.

“Well,” Tony clears his throat, trying to keep Peter’s attention from May, who needs another second to collect herself, “I was thinking it would be Millennium Falcon or something, but Hagen works, too, I guess.”

“Hagen,” Peter repeats, looking up from the dog.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Hagen.”

“No, Hagen. You pronounce it wrong.”

“What? No, I don’t.”

Peter smirks a little. “Yes, you do. You say it like the ice cream brand, but it’s Hagen.”

“Hagen,” Tony says, doing his best to imitate Peter’s words – and failing, judging by the little shake of Peter’s head. “Hag- You know what? It doesn’t even matter if I can pronounce it right, you’re the one who’s going to be with him all the time.”

“You’re just saying that because you can’t get it right.” There’s a glimmer of the old Peter shining in his eyes, and Tony just knows he would take all the shit from the boy if it means he would see that look more often.

“Please. Does that sound like something I would do?” Tony ignores the very pointy look Peter is sending his way. “Anyway, I only picked up Ha- the dog, so we still need to shop for the rest. I’m thinking about an Iron Man leash, just to show everyone where his loyalty lies.”

“Yeah, sure,” Peter agrees, picking up the dog into his arms, scratching him behind his ears, “as soon as you can pronounce his name.”

* * *

“Dude, I still can’t believe you have a dog now,” Ned says for the ninth time in the last hour.

“I know,” Peter answers with a smile, running his hand through Hagen’s fur who is sleeping between them. It’s been almost three weeks since the attack, close to one and a half since Tony gave him Hagen. Even after these few days, Peter can’t imagine what he would be doing without the dog.

Things are not good, to put it mildly. Everyone knows it, even though nobody really talks about it, but it’s there, the very obvious elephant in the room: PTSD. One sleepless night (one of many) Peter googled it, trying to brace himself for that label that everyone would stick on him, the reason why everyone would touch him so softly like he would break away underneath their fingertips if they’re just a little too rough.

(It’s a weird feeling. He feels simultaneously stronger and weaker than ever. Strong because he knows what he’s capable of, he’s absolutely aware of the limits of his abilities, he’s been through tough missions and other situations; Peter knows he can do a lot. And yet, he feels so weak, like the only thing that’s holding him together is a thin thread, threatening to rip if you just look at it the wrong way. Almost hourly, he switches from feeling like he might break down crying to screaming at everyone around him that they shouldn’t baby him.)

Sam tried talking to him about it once, which had been a conversation Peter only couldn’t avoid because they were both in the elevator at that time. He told him about bad days, _really_ bad days, and good days. Peter already knew about that, after all this is not his first rodeo with traumatic experiences, but he just nodded, hoping Sam would take the hint and stop. He did – somewhat. Before Peter could dart out of the open doors however, Sam told him that every one of them would listen if he wanted to talk.

Finding someone to listen isn’t the problem. Peter can basically feel them hovering around him, ready to pounce at the chance to help him. The problem is that Peter doesn’t know if he can really talk about it.

Every other thought he has reminds him about what he did in the last two years. It’s exhausting, he wants it to stop so bad – but it doesn’t. The more he tries to keep the thoughts away to finally be able to move forward, the more he thinks about it. Thinks about the first time he shot a man. Thinks about all the ones that followed. Thinks about the times he helped interrogate someone, which really is just a nicer way of saying torturing. Thinks about every single tingle in his neck, every time the voice in the back of his mind told him something was wrong – thinks about how he ignored all of it.

It’s suffocating and Peter just wants it to _stop_.

He wonders if these days are the good, the bad, or the really bad days. He wonders what the new definition of a good day is. Because if these are the good days, he really doesn’t want to know what the really bad days are like.

Natasha is watching him, waiting for the really bad days, too. Peter can feel her watching him even if she isn’t in the room. He hasn’t decided yet if he’s grateful that she’s keeping an eye on him or if it makes him feel more on edge. She’s also trying to get him to train with her, no doubt to find out what exactly HYDRA taught him. It’s reasonable, Peter knows that. After all, she’d been his trainer before, and now she needs to know what he can do to properly train him again.

But whenever Peter even thinks about training with Nat, it feels like something wraps around his chest, squeezing him tight. Before HYDRA, he had no problem sparring against the spy, knowing that he was so far from her level that he could never hurt her, even with his super strength. However, that’s not the case anymore. Peter hurt her during their last fight, enough to knock her out. What if it happens again? What if he zones out for a second, forgets that he’s not actually fighting but only training and hurts her even worse than before? He’s terrified of hurting her or anyone again, by accident or not. So, Peter always says no whenever she asks him about training.

Hagen helps a lot more than Peter previously thought would be possible. Because the dog doesn’t know what he’s done, doesn’t know who or what HYDRA is, doesn’t judge him for anything – all he cares about is being with Peter. And when Peter can’t see the point in getting out of bed and moving around, he gets out of bed for Hagen, to give him food, to take him outside, to play with him. If he can’t find the energy to live for himself, he finds the energy to live for Hagen.

Being with Morgan is similar to Hagen. She doesn’t know that Peter is the brother she sometimes mentions, but it seems like she already decided that he’s her other brother, adding him in her drawings of her family like it’s the only natural thing to do. She loves playing with him and Hagen, loves that he can carry her up to the ceiling and hang her upside down from it. Peter doesn’t want to kill again, but he just knows he would kill for her in a heartbeat.

Today is the first day he’s left the premises of the compound and is without an Avenger or May. Which doesn’t mean that they aren’t close. Tony and May are both in the city, going over May’s plans for her next job, while Peter spends time with Ned, who has been spamming him for days to come visit him. Besides, Peter really missed Queens. Of course, he’s been nervous, the fear that someone would just take him again almost choking him, but he’s still here, in the little park. The weather isn’t good; cloudy and wet, driving most residents back into their homes where they cuddle on the couch with a steaming mug of the beverage of their choice. Because of that, the park is pretty much deserted and after playing with Hagen for a while (Ned has been as equally excited as Peter had been when he first saw the puppy), they sat down on the blanket Peter designed with the built-in heater.

Peter’s eyes are still on Hagen, watching the even rise and fall of the dog’s chest. Even though he tries to ignore it, he’s still hyper aware of his surroundings – the people passing by, possible hiding spots, places where a sniper could be. A part of him wonders if it’ll ever go away. Another part wonders if he wants it to go away, because as long as he’s prepared, it won’t be so easy to take him again.

“Hey, Peter?” Ned asks after a while, prompting the boy to look up to his friend. Ned’s eyes are full of worry. He’s never been good at hiding his emotions. “Will you ever tell me? What happened to you, I mean?”

It’s the first time his friend brings it up. Peter doesn’t want Ned to know. He thinks he wouldn’t be able to stomach it if Ned turned away from him, disgusted by his actions.

Peter smiles. “Yeah, some day,” he lies.

Ned is a bit disappointed that it’s some day and not right now, but he accepts it. That’s one of the things Peter loves about him. Supportive to a fault, and while he can ask just as many questions as Peter can, he also knows when to _not_ ask them. “But you’re doing okay now, right? Like, you would tell me if you weren’t okay, would you?”

Peter is not okay. “Yeah, totally. I’m fine, dude.” He smiles again, knowing how to move his muscles to make it seem believable.

Ned buys it, smiling in relief, and after a moment of silence, he looks back to Hagen. “Dude, you should totally make an Instagram account for him.” For the first time since he woke up, Peter genuinely laughs. “I’m serious! Like, look how pretty he is. And we can teach him all the commands as Harry Potter spells, like this one dude? People would love stuff like that. And then you would get all these brand deals and get rich and get invited to Ellen and stuff.”

“I don’t think I’m that good with Instagram anymore, dude. It’s been a while.”

“Well, I would help you, of course.” There’s a soft buzzing sound, and Ned quickly pulls out his phone, typing something before turning back to look at Peter with a sheepish grin. “So, I have a surprise.”

At once, Peter starts to tense.

“It wasn’t my idea, okay? Totally not my intention when I texted her! But I kinda mentioned you and you know how she gets when she wants to do something, so-“ Ned doesn’t specify who _she_ is, but he doesn’t need to. There are hurried footsteps behind him, and Peter turns around, his heart rate already picking up, hand lying above his pocket where his knife is hidden (a knife he got from Bucky that he switched with the one he got from Schneider), ready to fight, to protect Ned and Hagen at any cost.

But it’s not an enemy behind him.

It’s MJ.

She’s standing just a few feet behind him, hair as curly and frizzy as Peter remembers it, absolutely untamable. Her eyes are unusually wide, staring at him like he’s a ghost. Her heart beats a little too fast. Back in school, MJ had always been a bit of an enigma, her face giving none of her emotions and thoughts away; it also didn’t help that Peter always turned into a babbling, staring fool when he was near her, unable to do anything but stutter and try not to sound like an idiot. Now, the emotions are flashing across her face, disbelief the most notable one. However, Peter still seems to only be able to stare at her, suddenly forgetting how to form words.

Peter wants to say something, anything really, but no words come out of his mouth, not as long as her eyes still drill into him, demanding all of his focus and attention. Only when Ned gets up clumsily and Hagen sits up because of the sudden movement (and MJ averts her eyes), Peter comes back to reality. “I, uh, have really important stuff to do, like… uh, buying some… bread. Yeah, totally. My mom wants me to buy some bread. So, I’ll let you two alone.” At those words, Peter whips his head around to him. Judging by Ned’s amusement, there’s panic written all over Peter’s face. “You can catch up.”

Suddenly, catching up with MJ seems so much more nerve-wrecking and impossible than anything else he’s ever done in his life. “Ned.”

“It’s fine, Peter,” he whispers, softly enough for only Peter to hear. “MJ just wants to talk. May knows about this. It’s no big deal.” It feels like a very big deal, but strangely enough Peter is not sure if he wants Ned to stay with them or leave right this second. Ned doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead he scratches Hagen behind his ear, who has completely forgotten about being tired, happy that Ned is giving him attention and that there’s someone he hasn’t met yet only a couple of feet away from him. “See you later!”

And then, Ned is gone. MJ is still standing there. Suddenly, Peter feels stupid for sitting down, but before he can get up, she is already moving towards him, eyes darting around the place, only staying on him for less than a second at a time. “Peter,” she says as a greeting.

Somehow, a small _Hey_ stumbles out of his mouth. While MJ can’t seem to look at him, it’s the exact opposite for Peter; he’s unable to look away from her. He’s faintly aware that his heart is thundering against his chest. Hagen tries to walk over to MJ, but almost instinctively Peter holds him back, pressing him close to his body, more to comfort himself than anything else. He can feel Hagen gently licking his fingers.

A moment passes like this.

Then, Peter feels like an idiot for not saying anything. “Do you, uh, want to sit down?” he eventually asks, pointing to the now vacant spot. MJ’s eyes fly to it. “The blanket has a heater, so it’s actually pretty warm.” Why did he say that? Of course, the blanket is warm! That’s what heaters do! She will think he’s an idiot and-

“Sure,” she answers, and walks over to the spot. Her cheeks are a bit flushed. Peter wonders if it’s because of the cold or not. She sits down slowly, obviously not happy with the way she’s sitting; first her legs curled underneath her, careful to keep her shoes off the blanket. The position apparently isn’t comfortable and she moves around a bit, still careful about her feet not being on the blanket (Peter is suddenly very aware that his dirty shoes are on the blanket, yet he feels too paralyzed to move them), before she stretches her legs out, her feet dangling off the blanket.

A tense silence threatens to spread between them, but Hagen is having none of it. He finally breaks out of Peter’s grip and happily sashays over to MJ, his tails wagging from one side to the other. “Is that your dog?” she asks and hesitantly starts to pet the puppy.

“Yeah, that’s Hagen,” Peter answers, relieved to be talking about a safe topic.

“A Christmas present?”

Even though Peter hasn’t seen her in over two years, he can still hear and interpret her subtle but judgmental tone. Without him even realizing it, a small smile finds its way on his face. “No, not really. I mean, he’d been a Christmas present for another family, but they gave him to a shelter. Mr. Stark picked him up for me.”

He half-expects another comment from her, something about taking responsibility or something, but it doesn’t come. “He’s cute,” she only says, running a hand through his soft fur. Peter mumbles something again, but he’s not quite sure what it is. Nothing intelligent, that’s for sure. “You’re back.”

There’s a strange tone to her voice that urges Peter to lift his head. He’s a bit surprised to find MJ already staring at him, but this time she doesn’t look away. For a moment, he forgets about the question and just looks at her, again unable to look away. She pretty much looks just like she did two years ago, though her face does look a bit slimmer. Is she eating enough? College is stressful, hopefully she remembers to eat regularly. Then again, MJ has already seemed so put together during school, Peter is pretty sure if there’s one person who can manage college without any stress, it’s her.

When MJ continues to stare at him, Peter remembers she asked a question. His cheeks heat up again. “I’m back, yeah.”

She nods slowly, eyes lowering themselves back to the puppy, who’s more than happy to get attention. “Was it… Spider-Man related?”

“What?” Peter feels his heart drop through his body and into the ground as MJ’s eyes snap up. “S-Spider-Man? Why-Why would you- … I mean, what does he have to do with it? Like, we’re two completely different people.”

“Peter, it’s not that difficult to figure out,” she says, and if he weren’t this panicky, he might notice the slight upwards curl of her lips. “You always disappeared. Then there was Washington, of course. You got your internship around the same time Spider-Man got the suit from Stark. Your asthma, your allergies, and your bad eyesight all vanished overnight.” Peter can only stare at her, mouth slightly agape. MJ shrugs. “I mean, I wasn’t, like, obsessed or anything. Just observant.”

Peter thinks about what he can say. Anything to convince her that he isn’t Spider-Man. Or wasn’t Spider-Man. He’s not quite sure if he can ever be Spider-Man again.

There’s a sharp stab in his chest.

“So?” MJ asks, pulling him back to reality. “Was it? A… a mission or whatever you call it?”

Right now, here in the empty park with only them and Hagen, Peter doesn’t even think about lying. “Yeah, it was,” he confesses. MJ watches him, not saying anything. No questions about what happened, about where he was, about what he did. Peter can tell she wants to know, because the questions are written all over her face (less obvious than Ned’s questions, but still there), but she doesn’t ask them. Maybe that’s why Peter gives her some answers. “Some people took me. Wiped my memories, made me think I was someone else. I met the Avengers during… something I had to do. And then they helped me remember.”

“That must’ve been weird,” MJ says, not necessarily unsure, more like she’s afraid of saying the wrong thing, but soft, barely loud enough over the busy noises around them. “Waking up and not knowing who or where you are.”

Peter doesn’t want to talk about it. He shrugs. “I got home.” He stretches out a shaky hand, and Hagen walks over to him at once, rubbing his head against his hand. Peter exhales.

MJ doesn’t say anything, doesn’t mention his shaking hands that she surely notices, doesn’t call him out for not saying more. Instead, she gives him time to breathe and focus on what’s happening right here in this park right this second. Suddenly, Peter is very aware of how close they are. Only a little over a foot between them. It would be so incredibly easy to just lean forward a bit and kiss her. He can feel the phantom pressure of her lips against his, the memory as vivid as if it happened only seconds ago and not over two years.

But he’s not gonna do it. She has a boyfriend, and they haven’t seen each other for two years. It would be weird and inappropriate.

Still, he’s very aware of it.

“I went to speak with Stark once,” MJ suddenly confesses. The words are so unexpected, that Peter can’t help but blink a few times. Her cheeks are flushed, he would even call it blushing, eyes staring holes into her shoes, fingers pulling at the sleeves of her jacket. Her heart beats just as fast as his. “It was about maybe a week or two after you disappeared, and I-… well, I don’t really know what I was thinking. But, somehow, I convinced myself that I should go to Stark and scream at him to find you. Because if he can’t, then who can, right?”

“Did you do it?” Peter asks, already knowing the answer. If MJ went to Tony and talked to him, Tony would’ve told Peter.

MJ takes a deep breath. “Almost. I went to the SI office in Manhattan and totally had a fool-proofed plan for sneaking past the security guards and everything, but then I heard this receptionist. She was taking a call, talking to I don’t know who, but they wanted to speak with Stark. And she told them he’s not in the office and won’t be for a couple for days because he’s dealing with a family emergency.” A weird kind of warmth spreads through Peter’s chest. It’s nice to know that Peter has been part of Tony’s family even back then, but it also hurts because he’s been the reason for Tony (and everyone around him) hurting. “Then, suddenly, I felt so… almost stupid for being there,” MJ continues, her eyebrows slightly furrowed. “For thinking that he isn’t already doing everything he can to find you and bring you back and make sure that you’re okay. So, I just left.”

A heavy silence fills the little space between them. MJ is still avoiding looking at him, and Peter feels the urge to say something, but he has no clue what he should say. It’s not like he really wants to tell her what happened, because the thought of her turning away from him is just as painful as thinking about Ned turning away. And MJ always had a strong moral compass. She would definitely condemn him for what he did as Siegfried.

While he desperately tries to think of anything to say, something pops into his head. Before he can think twice about it, the words are already out of his mouth. “How’s college?” MJ shoots him a look that makes his cheeks flush. “Ned said you got into Dartmouth.”

“Yeah.” Peter can’t tell if she looks disappointed or relieved about the change of topic. “Yeah, I did. It’s great. Interesting lectures, got a few really great professors. There are still some idiots walking around, but I guess there’re idiots everywhere. And I’m part of a really cool study group. The other day, we had a three-hour long discussion about gender inequality.”

For a second, Peter pictures MJ at college – walking around campus with a reusable, eco-friendly coffee mug, dominating every debate she’s in, writing absolutely amazing papers, not afraid to call someone out on their shit, drawing all the students in crisis during exam season. He can’t see her as anything but thriving at college.

There is, however, another thing that’s burning on his tongue.

“How’s your, uh, your boyfriend?” Peter tells himself that he has no right or reason to feel the jealousy that climbs up his throat. He’s been gone for two years. MJ is totally allowed to move on. In fact, he wants her to move on, to live her life to the fullest and not dwell on the past. Besides, they were never officially together. So, no reason to be jealous. Absolutely none.

“Ned told you?” Before Peter can answer, MJ already continues. “Of course, he told you. He tells you everything,” she huffs out. He’s pretty sure it’s supposed to be a laugh, something to lighten the mood, but it fails to deliver. “Lucas is fine. And… well, Ned isn’t really up to date. We’re not together anymore. Lucas and I, I mean.”

Despite his best efforts to look indifferent, Peter can’t help but perk up. “Oh?”

MJ is very busy avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. We broke up before the Christmas break, so...”

“I’m sorry.” He’s not. He wants to be sorry because breakups are never nice, and he is kind of sorry that she went through that. But he’s not sorry that her relationship ended. Not really. (In fact, he’s not sorry at all.)

“Yeah, well, it’s fine,” she says with a shrug. “We weren’t dating that long, anyway, and it was mutual. Like, we’re getting along great and everything, and we’re good friends, but he wasn’t over someone else either, so it was kinda doomed from the start.”

Peter’s heart skips a beat. He’s not sure if MJ even noticed her little slip up, noticed what she implied by saying _either_ , because every signal Peter picks up from her says that she didn’t notice. Her cheeks aren’t more flushed than they were a few seconds ago, her heart beat is fast but steady.

On the other side, Peter’s own heart is almost jumping out of his throat. There’s the possibility that he misreads this entire situation, that MJ isn’t suggesting that she meant him. She could be talking about anyone. Maybe Ned somehow missed that she had a relationship during their last years at Midtown. Maybe she had a secret partner. But… But what if she really is talking about him? And she told him about going to SI and wanting to scream at Tony.

His palms are getting sweaty. His anxiety climbs up, but for the first time in weeks – years – it’s not because of what he did during his missions or anything related to that. And for the first time in, well, his entire life, he doesn’t let the anxiety stop him. MJ already showed him her cards. It’s time he should do the same.

“The last non-mission related conversation I had was about you,” Peter says. His eyes are lowered to Hagen who is sleeping again, but out of the corners of his eyes he sees MJ turn her head around so fast, he’s pretty sure she’s going to have whiplash from it. “I was talking to Mr. Stark about a Christmas present I wanted to get you. A necklace of a black dahlia. Because of the murder.”

“Yeah?” she breathes, and Peter dares to look up. Her expression is unusually open; baffled and something like wonder shining in her eyes, like his words are too good to be true. Peter’s mouth is suddenly very dry.

“Y-Yeah.” He has to clear his throat as his cheeks feel like they’re set aflame. “Mr. Stark had this elaborate plan. Wanted me to get a necklace from Venice because they’re really good at making glass pendants and stuff. Then he said you should come, too, and we would make a stop in Paris, so I could give it to you at the top of the Eiffel Tower. He was already planning to rent the entire thing.”

For a while, MJ doesn’t say anything, and Peter would’ve been incredibly nervous about her reaction if he couldn’t hear her heartbeat. During his time with HYDRA, Peter learned to read the body language of the people around him. Everything about MJ tells him that it’s a positive reaction, but he can’t help but worry. Because what if he overstepped a new, invisible line between them? They haven’t seen each other in two years and he tells her this? That he planned to fly her to the other side of the world to give her a necklace? That the last conversation Peter Parker had was about her? What if he really did misinterpret her earlier? What if he just made all of this awkward? Well, even _more_ awkward. What if-

“That would’ve left a pretty big foot print,” she says, crashing his train of thoughts. Not knowing what she’s talking about, Peter looks up, just in time to see her look away. Her cheeks are very pink, and she’s pulling at her sleeves again. “A carbon dioxide one, I mean. Because of the plane and only so few people being inside it. Not really great for the environment.” Peter wants to say that Tony’s planes are probably the greenest planes on the planet thanks to his advanced technology (still not the best option, but better, at least), but he doesn’t get a chance to say it. “Like, I would’ve worn that necklace every day to make up for that foot print. Because it would be stupid to fly around half of the planet for a necklace and then not wear it. Like, totally counterproductive to all the efforts of saving the planet.”

“Yeah?” is all Peter manages to get out of his very dry mouth.

MJ nods once, almost nervously tucking a strand of her behind her ear. “Yeah.” She looks at him from underneath her eyelashes, cheeks dusted in pink, a smile (a real smile, no sarcastic smirk, no smirk that says you’re an idiot and we both know it, an honest, gentle smile) shyly spreading across her face, and Peter forgets how to breathe. Breathing seems very unimportant right now. Why should he care about oxygen when he can just stare at MJ?

“For the environment, of course,” she adds, quickly looking away, the smile replaced by a serious scowl. There’s still a certain shine in her eyes.

“Of course,” Peter echoes and nods, while his body reminds him why he needs oxygen. “That’s-That’s obvious. We have to save the planet and all.”

“Exactly. Biggest priority right now.”

“Absolutely.”

“For sure.”

“Yeah.”

Peter doesn’t notice the smile on his face, and he doesn’t really care about it. Because MJ would’ve worn the necklace everyday – for the environment. (But is that detail really _that_ important?)

She clears her throat and sits up straighter, getting Peter’s unlimited attention without even asking for it. “So, uh, there’s this café not too far from here. They basically do everything to fight capitalism, like pay everyone the same wages, no matter if they’re a temp or a manager, and don’t have any to go cups, and sell the used coffee grounds as fertilizer and stuff, which is-“

“Amazing for the environment.”

“Yes, exactly. Do you-“ She takes a deep breath and looks over to him, making a point in keeping his eye contact and her chin held high, looking absolutely confident and almost nonchalant if it weren’t for her thundering heartbeat. “Do you want to check it out?”

Peter’s first reaction is _yes_ , immediately by a very loud, very definite _no_. The idea to leave the park, the spot everyone else knows he is right now, is terrifying. And going to an unknown location? What if someone is hiding there? What if HYDRA somehow recruited MJ and this is all a plot to get to him? To kill him? Or, even worse, take him away again? What if, this time, nobody will come looking for him?

Something wet touches his fingers, and Peter needs a few seconds to realize that it’s Hagen, who woke up and looks at him with big eyes. Air is slowly flowing back into Peter’s lungs.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to,” MJ is quick to say. A part of Peter wonders how long he’s been silent. “Like, I don’t even know if you like coffee or anything. Or if you have any time right now. And-“

“No, uh, I do,” Peter interrupts her. “Have time. And like coffee. Well, I mean, everyone says I’m not allowed to have any because I already have enough energy-“

“They do have other stuff than coffee. But we don’t have to if-“

“No, let’s go there.” It’s a snap decision, but one Peter doesn’t regret. Because in that instant he realizes that he doesn’t want to be afraid. Which doesn’t mean he’s not afraid anymore, because it’s the complete opposite. He’s terrified. But he doesn’t want that stopping him from living his life. He doesn’t want HYDRA stopping him from going to an eco-friendly, socialistic-ish café with MJ. He doesn’t want them to have that power.

So, he has to be brave.

“Really?” MJ asks, blinking a few times. “I mean, we totally don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Peter answers, doing his best at fighting down the fear that is climbing up his spine. “It sounds like a really cool place and… and I would love to go there. With you.”

“Cool,” she says, a light twitch in her cheek that could be the start of a smile. “Cool, cool, cool.” They stand up awkwardly and fold the blanket even more awkwardly, very aware of the few times their hands almost touch but neither of them wanting to admit how awkward it is. Hagen running around them excitingly isn’t really helping either.

Peter texts Tony as subtly as he can (he’s pretty sure MJ does notice it but doesn’t comment on it), telling him where he’s going and that everything is okay. The fear that something might go wrong and something bad could happen is still very prominent, and he feels a lot safer with Tony knowing what’s going on.

Just in case.

* * *

When Tony gets a handful of snow thrown into his face, he knows it’s a good day. Laughter rings from all around him as he slowly wipes the snow out of his face, looking straight into Peter’s face. It’s difficult to hide his smile when he sees Peter laughing brightly, tears already gathering in his eyes. “You know that this means revenge, right?”

Peter tries to say something, but no words come out of his mouth because he’s too busy laughing. Tony gathers some snow in his gloved hand and closes in on Peter, who tries to move away but he’s still very occupied with laughing. Morgan is shrieking in delight, running circles around them (as good as she can in the Iron Man snowsuit that barely allows her to move) because she can’t contain all the energy inside her. Pepper and May sit on the porch of the lake house, swallowed by blankets and thick sweaters, steaming mugs of coffee in their hands, while Hagen (with his War Machine collar that Rhodey bought him the second he found out about the dog and actually used the suit to get it before the one they ordered could arrive) lays on the heated blanket, his tail wagging lazily, finally tired after playing in the snow for hours.

It’s the end of February, and an unexpected cold front hit the country, covering a good part of the land in a thick blanket of snow, much to the dismay of every driver and the delight of Morgan. They have a hard time keeping her out of the cold, the argument that she may get hypothermia not convincing in her ears.

Tony’s knee aches as he chases after Peter, who recovered just enough to move again. Despite how much he tries to deny it, Tony is getting older and the cold isn’t helping. However, he barely notices the slight pain thanks to all the serotonin rushing through his body at seeing his kids this happy. This morning when he came downstairs and found Peter making breakfast (or attempting to destroy the kitchen), Tony knew the chances of this being a good day were pretty good. Whenever he wakes up and finds Peter already training or going for a morning run that lasts hours, it’s usually a bad day. Whenever Peter only focuses on Hagen, it’s most likely a really bad day.

Finally, Tony catches up on the boy, slamming both of them to the ground, and throws the snow (not too forcefully) into Peter’s face. “It’s cold,” Peter gasps, barely intelligible from all his laughter.

“Well, you know what they say about revenge being served cold.”

Peter only continues to laugh and rolls onto his feet as soon as Tony gets back on his own.

“Do it again!” Morgan cheers, jumping up and down in excitement.

“Again?” Peter asks, and Morgan cheers again as he grabs some more snow. “Okay. But how about I do it to… you?” He leaps forward and Morgan shrieks, frozen in her spot, but Peter moves slow enough for her to break out of her daze and start running around, switching between screaming and laughing every other step.

No matter how much Tony wants to just stand there and watch them frolicking through the snow, the snow does actually start to send a chill down his spine, so he makes his way over to the house to get himself a nice cup of coffee.

“Don’t bring any snow in the house,” Pepper warns. It might have been more convincing if she wasn’t grinning herself.

“Snow? What snow? Oh, _this_ snow?” He gathers some snow from the handrail into his hands.

Pepper’s eyes go wide as May starts to laugh. “Tony, don’t! I swear if you-“ Her protest dies as Tony moves to press the snow into her face, but before the frozen water can touch her, he leans down and gives her a quick kiss instead, letting the snow fall out of his hands onto the ground.

“How can you both be some of the most influential people in business in the world, and still act like children?” May asks after she takes a sip of her coffee.

“Oh, you should see the other businessmen. _Way_ worse than us.”

“I’m not acting like a child,” Pepper defends herself, already recovered from the almost-attack. “Tony is enough of a child for both of us.”

“That is true. But also, I’m a child who’s allowed to drink coffee.” Both women laugh as Tony steps inside, making sure that he’s not actually dragging in any snow. The house is blissfully warm, and his cheeks start to sting a little bit from the sudden change in temperature as he pours himself a cup of coffee. This is the third good day in a row, and while a part of Tony is absolutely ecstatic about it, he learned to not make any rash decisions. Just because it’s been three good days, doesn’t mean that the bad days are suddenly gone, that Peter dealt with his trauma with only a snap of his fingers.

No, it’s the opposite, Tony knows that. There hasn’t been a single night Peter did not wake up from a nightmare. He has flashbacks at least once a day. Even though he slowly started to train again, Tony knows Peter is hesitant about using any of his abilities. Getting him back inside the lab and working on something has been a real challenge, and the tension in Peter’s shoulders is always there (Tony would’ve dropped getting Peter in the lab entirely if it wasn’t for the spark in his eyes that’s still there whenever he’s working on and creating something). He still doesn’t react to all the suggestions of him seeing a therapist, but Tony knows he talks to Hagen, so soft and quiet that it’s almost inaudible. Of course, the billionaire would prefer it if Peter talked to a professional and not a dog, but it’s a first step.

Sometimes, Peter looks at Tony and still sees Thomas. Those are often the very bad days. Not only for Peter.

Tony accepted the reality that he can’t get the old Peter back, the innocent boy who lit up a room the second he stepped inside it. He still manages to do that, but less often. There are things about Peter that Tony can’t change and that aren’t necessarily bad, just… different. Peter swears in German. He can maneuver almost any vehicle expertly, and knows how to handle almost every weapon they put in front of him. A knife is always in his pocket or underneath his pillow when he sleeps. He’s now an early riser. When he trains with Nat and Barnes, they speak in Russian. Nobody else is allowed in the gym when they train and Tony promised (one he actually manages to keep) to not look at the security footage. Nat shared a few details, like he only fights against Barnes and she only comments on his technique or points out a few tips, or that there’s a subconscious discipline that shows the second he steps into the gym, shoulders pulled back and eyes sharp. Tony, of course, always asks for more details, but the spy doesn’t answer him. He hasn’t decided yet if he should be grateful or angry.

But some things don’t change, even if some evil Nazi organization brainwashes you and blocks all your old memories. Peter is still obsessed with Star Wars and Legos. When he’s excited, he can still talk a mile a minute and gesticulate wildly. He still can’t draw. He laughs about the same stupid jokes that nobody else besides Vision understands.

Talking to Ned and MJ helps, too. Seeing that neither of them actually live in New York anymore, Peter mostly talks to them on the phone. Once, he had a Lego building competition with Ned over Skype, both of them having the same set, and they tried to assemble it as fast as possible. Ned won by far, because he didn’t have an overly excited puppy and a _helpful_ three-year old next to him who insisted on helping him (but were the complete opposite of helpful). They also had a nearly two-hour long discussion about who was more of a Shane and who was more of a Ryan, but Tony was too afraid to ask what that meant.

Peter keeps the details of his calls with MJ more private, but he still turns pink whenever Tony mentions her. Not as pink and as embarrassed as before, finally gaining confidence in their feelings for each other, but still pink and embarrassed enough to tease him about it. Not that Tony is doing that a lot. He knows he owes MJ (and Ned – the entire team already agreed to suit up and fly to MIT to give Ned’s reputation a little boost) quite a bit for whatever she did that convinced Peter to start living again. Tony is also pretty sure that she’s the reason why Peter is constantly looking for ways to make literally everything more environment friendly, which Tony used to get him in the lab again.

Not once has Peter mentioned Spider-Man. Tony has already a dozen designs for a new suit, ready to make it the second Peter asks for it – but he hasn’t asked. Which doesn’t mean it’s not on his mind. Tony can practically hear Peter’s thoughts whenever they drift into that direction, about all his worries, about his fears of hurting someone, of not deserving to be Spider-Man, of being too bad to do something good. It’s difficult for Tony to keep quiet whenever he picks up on those thoughts, but he holds his tongue nevertheless, too afraid of rushing Peter into something he’s not ready for. Peter’s recovery is the priority. Everything else – Spider-Man, getting his High School diploma, college – can wait. 

Watching his kids play around in the snow, hearing Pepper and May chat, and taking a sip of his coffee, Tony’s eyes fall onto the picture frame Peter gave him only a few days ago, confessing with pink cheeks that it had been a Christmas gift for two years ago, one he finished just before HYDRA took him. The red and gold picture frame is by far not the most expensive decoration in the lake house (or the compound or the penthouse), but the picture of Peter and Morgan inside it with the words _World’s Best Dad_ above them makes it priceless in Tony’s eyes.

Yes, this is a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next day, Tony buys a zoo. Morgan names all the animals, Steve and Bucky are in charge of looking after the arctic animals, Tony builds an enclosure for robots, Vision is the official tour guide because he can answer all the question, and they start enjoying working in their zoo so much, they get seriously pissed whenever they have a mission. They also have a Christmas party once a week. Steve pretends to be grumpy about dressing up as Santa every time, but he secretly loves it. 
> 
> But while we're talking about what happens next: Of course, I thought about what might happen next. Whenever I spend so much time and thought and effort on a story, I automatically start to think about what's happening next. And a part of me wants to write that sequel. But the other part is more hesitant for 2 reasons. 1: I'm afraid to screw it up. I really love this story, and I'm so afraid of ruining it by writing a not-good sequel. 2: It does kinda feel like an ending.   
> So, yeah, I'm still debating if I should write it or not - but if I would write it, are there any things you're interested in seeing? The story would focus on Peter's recovery and a few consequences of his time with HYDRA. Also, would you prefer that I upload a chapter whenever I finish writing one or would you prefer me finishing the story and then having a fixed upload schedule?
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for reading this story! ❤ I would absolutely love to hear what you thought about this last chapter and the story in general! You could either leave me a comment or come visit me on [tumblr](https://jen27ny.tumblr.com/)! ❤

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment to let me know what you think! :)
> 
> Or come to my [tumblr](https://jen27ny.tumblr.com/) and talk to me!


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